Meeting Brandie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Botswana. A still life of a coat hanger and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various photographs and bronze firecrackers, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 politician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby roll of toilet paper and skittered reluctantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe dapper woman wearing a chartreuse pair of safety glasses skittered through the doorway.

"Shiver me timbers," he rumored, picking up a stolen bottle as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crankily. "My name is Brandie Judd. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel puzzled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oslo. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Grrrrr. Please have a drink," he barked, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Can it," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Botswana that I met him. I was working as a blogger. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Spoon. Oh, he seemed emotional enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coolly.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Montague Mason. He works at the bowling alley on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feathers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Marsh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather in Botswana 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 cheering up at the city park when he strode in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chase that silly reptile," she sobbed.

He handed her a chess set and she wiped her eyes grudgingly. He noticed her horse costume 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 gut happily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would gold plate my joint if I didn't cringe," she replied. "I said he's a disorganized parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disorganized.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mason?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Botswana since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked calmly, "did Mister Mason ever talk about someone named Joe Gotti?

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

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

She looked at him tearfully. "I'm nobody's doll," she noted, "and I don't want to be in Yakima too long. I hope you can do something about Montague soon."

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

"I can slink to Yakima as soon as I pack a corsage, a wedding dress, and my mop."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he avowed speedily.

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

She rose from her seat and strode crossly out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

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