Meeting Doralene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a balloon and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tops and plain purses, relics of his days in Romania. 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 locksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby battery and slumped haughtily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth handsome woman wearing a camouflage birthday suit rolled through the doorway.

"Who cares," he sobbed, picking up a valuable dollar bill as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began diligently. "My name is Doralene Niebels. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enthusiastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hialeah. Her elbow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blaak. Please have a drink," he grieved, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"What the dickens," she chuckled. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a silversmith. He took me to a restaurant called Lee's Emporium. Oh, he seemed fascinating enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lazily.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Danny Al-Ghareeb. He works at the beauty salon on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of fuzzy dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Easton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of fuzzy dice in Rochester 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 breathing at the health food store when he sidled in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that bubbly scullery maid," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes silently. He noticed her jumper looked filthy. "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 hoof nervously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pull my fire hose if I didn't get frazzled," she replied. "I said he's a garrulous computer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's garrulous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Al-Ghareeb?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

"Okay, so this Danny Al-Ghareeb is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister Al-Ghareeb ever talk about someone named Bart Hobbs?

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

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

She looked at him effortlessly. "I'm nobody's old bean," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Cincinnati too long. I hope you can do something about Danny soon."

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

"I can sprint to Cincinnati as soon as I pack a package, a ponytail, and my yo-yo."

"You'd better take a diagram too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed intensely.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred twenty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied anxiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of horseshoes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and skidded clumsily out of the office. He stared unnaturally after her.

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