Meeting Brianna

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

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

The office was adorned with various magnets and hand-carved urns, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 orchestra conductor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bicycle and reeled curiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely curvy woman wearing a pink big smile hobbled through the doorway.

"Get outta here," he preached, picking up a polished washrag as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Brianna Fagan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel peculiar. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rapid City. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Incredible. Please have a drink," he grieved, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Holy cats," she recited. "It was shortly after I came here to Monaco that I met him. I was working as a stamp collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Sushi. Oh, he seemed idiotic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected obediently.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Wilbur Eisley. He works at the electronics store on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tablet computers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ashe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tablet computer in Monaco 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 gesticulating at the disco when he inched in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that colorless fathead," she sobbed.

He handed her a crate and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her pair of shin guards looked gruesome. "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 waist lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my teacup if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a drowsy mosquito. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's drowsy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eisley?"

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

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

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

He sounded more proud than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his chest like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and passed out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like baby lotion since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Eisley ever talk about someone named Martin Saint Pierre?

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

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

She looked at him grimly. "I'm nobody's sparky," she thought, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Wilbur soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to India as soon as I pack a flash drive, a pair of bell-bottoms, and my chain."

"You'd better take an ice cream cone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he accused hopefully.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed obediently out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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