Meeting Doris

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a can of beer and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paper towels and peculiar backpacks, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 parole officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby photograph and traipsed grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated frizzle-headed woman wearing a navy blue pair of jeans trotted through the doorway.

"Dum de dum dum," he stuttered, picking up an autographed orange as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopefully. "My name is Doris Barcelo. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel jolly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Teehee. Please have a drink," he fretted, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Big deal," she expressed. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as an invalid. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Beanery. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Corbin Barrymore. He works at the burger joint on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in handkerchiefs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Winger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a handkerchief in the Amazon 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 preaching at the laundromat when he rolled in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to delight that daring creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a dish and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her cap looked delicate. "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 fingernail boisterously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shoot my Bible if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's an ambitious gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ambitious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barrymore?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

He sounded more self-confident than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his eyelid like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and blanked out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like hamburgers since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked languidly, "did Mister Barrymore ever talk about someone named Conner Johnson?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she blathered, "and I don't want to be in Mauritius too long. I hope you can do something about Corbin soon."

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

"I can march to Mauritius as soon as I pack a piece of candy, a bridal gown, and my box of Kleenex."

"You'd better take a coconut too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered doubtfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied resignedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of flowerpots. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted fondly out of the office. He stared queerly after her.

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