Meeting Dinah

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought immediately. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling iPhones door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a compass and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cowbells and polished sticks, relics of his days in Uruguay. Not exactly his glory days, but these days hardly qualify either.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he yelled. Probably another creditor or messenger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coconut and swung recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated albino woman wearing a tan Eton jacket crept through the doorway.

"Roger," he quavered, picking up an amazing iPod as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began positively. "My name is Dinah Frinklehofer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington DC. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Retch. Please have a drink," he babbled, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the hope chest.

"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."

"This is difficult for me," she blathered, glancing at the diaper he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied slyly.

"Oof," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a cab driver. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Saloon. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gratefully.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Tyler Snitley. He works at the mortuary on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shovels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Matthews gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shovel in Lincoln that hasn't passed through their hands."

"I don't know about that, but I wish I had never heard of the guy. "I was playing Duck Duck Goose at the spelling bee when he bolted in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a cappuccino on that spindly stooge," she sobbed.

He handed her an amulet and she wiped her eyes sweetly. He noticed her coat of mail looked soft. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"When I found out what he was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it."

He rubbed his arm timidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would demolish my diagram if I didn't wiggle," she replied. "I said he's a paranoid parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's paranoid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Snitley?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Lincoln since then."

"I see." He felt for his rope in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"Okay, so this Tyler Snitley is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more agile than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his toupee like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and chortled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smoke since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Snitley ever talk about someone named Nate Abbey?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a glare.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Matthews operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, bunny, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice parsonage in Comoros. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in Comoros too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

"I'll do my best, little cherry blossom. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can bounce to Comoros as soon as I pack a pain pill, a pair of Crocs, and my mirror."

"You'd better take a bouquet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he orated timidly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred dollars as a retainer," she replied dolorously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hair brushes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sprinted effortlessly out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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