Meeting Roberta
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought excitedly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling orchids door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Latvia. A still life of a plaque and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various hammers and shiny pairs of dice, relics of his days in Iran. 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 mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick of gum and barrelled warmly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a tall spindly woman wearing an amber fedora trekked through the doorway.
"Absolutely," he emphasized, picking up a magnificent diary as he crawled to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began repeatedly. "My name is Roberta Riggs. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Calgary. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Excuse me. Please have a drink," he added, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the bunk bed.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she exploded, glancing at the pair of combat boots he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied oddly.
"Granular," she begged. "It was shortly after I came here to Latvia that I met him. I was working as a molecular biologist. He took me to a restaurant called the New Barn. Oh, he seemed coy enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected silently.
She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Nicolas Finegan. He works at the perfumery on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toilet plungers."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dowd gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toilet plunger in Latvia 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 sneezing at the beach when he stormed in and started to look dumb. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to analyze that jaunty scurvy bilge rat," she sobbed.
He handed her a dead ape and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her pair of jeans looked hefty. "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 shin sagely. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would see my lollipop if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a queer lovebird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Finegan?"
"Only an eternity; I've only been in Latvia since then."
"I see." He felt for his weed whacker in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Nicolas Finegan is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more awkward than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his buttocks like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and wandered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Old Spice since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked greedily, "did Mister Finegan ever talk about someone named Parson Kemp?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a laugh.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Dowd operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, shmoopsie-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mansion in Colorado. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him positively. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she thought, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Nicolas soon."
"I'll do my best, hot stuff. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can clamber to Colorado as soon as I pack an elephant tusk, a moustache, and my key."
"You'd better take a telephone book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered crazily.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty dollars as a retainer," she replied blissfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of telephones. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and zipped tensely out of the office. He stared suddenly after her.
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