Meeting Henrietta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Montenegro. A still life of a coat hanger and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of knitting needles and dry hammers, relics of his days in Serbia. 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 distiller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby beach ball and flew sheepishly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump pretty woman wearing an emerald green letter jacket lumbered through the doorway.

"For cryin' out loud," he interpreted, picking up a speckled houseplant as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began accidentally. "My name is Henrietta Elwood. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cuddly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he blustered, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Shoo," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to Montenegro that I met him. I was working as a quilter. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Fork. Oh, he seemed tired enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Thomas Vidmar. He works at the mortuary on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fingernail clippers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Veen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fingernail clipper in Montenegro 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 burbling at the pool hall when he lumbered in and started to beg. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tantalize that brassy ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a helmet and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her false moustache looked bizarre. "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 ego fearlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my joint if I didn't nod," she replied. "I said he's a charming warthog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's charming.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vidmar?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Montenegro since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Vidmar ever talk about someone named Edwin Nabokov?

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

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

She looked at him positively. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in Lithuania too long. I hope you can do something about Thomas soon."

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

"I can caper to Lithuania as soon as I pack a curling iron, a surgical mask, and my pillow."

"You'd better take a cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed suavely.

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

She rose from her seat and darted gingerly out of the office. He stared intensely after her.

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