Meeting Doralene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Uzbekistan. A still life of a tote bag and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various trash cans and flaky bird baths, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 guitarist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mirror and proceeded diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat smallish woman wearing a sparkly shawl skidded through the doorway.

"Pshaw," he whimpered, picking up a tiny broom as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began craftily. "My name is Doralene O'Connor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Ana. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hey. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Hush," she spewed. "It was shortly after I came here to Uzbekistan that I met him. I was working as a parole officer. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Cloud. Oh, he seemed rude enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected arrogantly.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Kelly Osaka. He works at the electronics store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks of gum."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Smiley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick of gum in Uzbekistan 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 grumbling at the K-Mart when he clambered in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that sleepy eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a blank check and she wiped her eyes clumsily. He noticed her pair of panties looked smooth. "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 brain angrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grapple my can of beer if I didn't burp," she replied. "I said he's a fearless peacock. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Osaka?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Uzbekistan since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lightly, "did Mister Osaka ever talk about someone named Gavin Dodd?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Smiley operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, angel-face, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice manor house in Brussels. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cleverly. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she chortled, "and I don't want to be in Brussels too long. I hope you can do something about Kelly soon."

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

"I can leap to Brussels as soon as I pack a coconut, a polo shirt, and my pencil sharpener."

"You'd better take a watering can too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stated threateningly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy-six dollars as a retainer," she replied sleepily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fishing rods. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and lumbered crossly out of the office. He stared hysterically after her.

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