Meeting Reba

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Nairobi. A still life of a pumpkin and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hair brushes and brittle soccer balls, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 doctor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fork and swung coldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt youthful woman wearing a teal tunic slumped through the doorway.

"Poof," he grieved, picking up a funny bottle as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ruefully. "My name is Reba Oldfather. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lanky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Atlanta. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Doubtful. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

"This is difficult for me," she fretted, glancing at the pair of cargo pants he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"The joke's on you," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Nairobi that I met him. I was working as a baker. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Terrace. Oh, he seemed muddled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deliberately.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Kris Baldwin. He works at the café on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lizard gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beans in Nairobi 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 moaning at the carnival when he made a beeline in and started to yell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punish that cunning goof," she sobbed.

He handed her a toothbrush and she wiped her eyes dubiously. He noticed her bedsheet looked amazing. "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 knuckle confidently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would polish my pinwheel if I didn't sleep," she replied. "I said he's a dumb Pekingese. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Baldwin?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Nairobi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister Baldwin ever talk about someone named Dylan Marlowe?

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

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

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she disputed, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Kris soon."

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

"I can parade to Belgium as soon as I pack a cigarette lighter, a G-string, and my piccolo."

"You'd better take a rubber chicken too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interpreted immediately.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred seventeen dollars as a retainer," she replied silently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cans of beer. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and pranced carefully out of the office. He stared nimbly after her.

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