Meeting Camille

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Mauritania. A still life of a pop bottle and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various primroses and big skulls, relics of his days in Norway. 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 bricklayer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby button and whirled shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby wizened woman wearing a silver Eton jacket made a beeline through the doorway.

"Whoopee," he belched, picking up an overgrown whistle as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strictly. "My name is Camille Dillman. 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 Bangalore. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For the love of Pete. Please have a drink," he gasped, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Easy peasy," she panted. "It was shortly after I came here to Mauritania that I met him. I was working as a television newscaster. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Kettle. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unnaturally.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Cameron Diamond. He works at the newsstand on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prentice gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pot in Mauritania 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 shivering at the disco when he waddled in and started to preach. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cover that gregarious boogerhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a rope and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her pair of roller skates looked heavy. "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 appendix narrowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my rag if I didn't crouch," she replied. "I said he's a sassy hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Diamond?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Mauritania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked trustingly, "did Mister Diamond ever talk about someone named Beauford Bruno?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Prentice 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 chapel in Nauru. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him demurely. "I'm nobody's doll," she suggested, "and I don't want to be in Nauru too long. I hope you can do something about Cameron soon."

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

"I can jog to Nauru as soon as I pack a houseplant, a birthday suit, and my candy bar."

"You'd better take a Bible too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he debated blissfully.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded hysterically out of the office. He stared thoughtfully after her.

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