Meeting Dianna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Comoros. A still life of a chain and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fossils and crude hubcaps, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 page, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby trash can and waltzed ruefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt winsome woman wearing a teal dress reeled through the doorway.

"Woohoo," he decided, picking up a smooth amulet as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began charmingly. "My name is Dianna Montoya. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stinky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Palmdale. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nonsense. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Big deal," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Comoros that I met him. I was working as a guitar player. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Tiger. Oh, he seemed exuberant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected neatly.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's LaDue Warren. He works at the supermarket on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in washrags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Spanbauer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a washrag in Comoros 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the rock concert when he sashayed in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to step on that dignified gossip," she sobbed.

He handed her an acorn and she wiped her eyes trustingly. He noticed her set of camo fatigues looked gigantic. "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 spine grudgingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shoot my thumb drive if I didn't wait," she replied. "I said he's an intrepid crow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intrepid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Warren?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Comoros since then."

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

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

He sounded more fashionable 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 blinked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like peanut butter since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sharply, "did Mister Warren ever talk about someone named Ricky Dodd?

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

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

She looked at him daintily. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Karachi too long. I hope you can do something about LaDue soon."

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

"I can skip to Karachi as soon as I pack a ball, a bustier, and my pipe."

"You'd better take a bottle of perfume too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he ranted temperamentally.

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

She rose from her seat and loped majestically out of the office. He stared dubiously after her.

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