Meeting Dagmar

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a cigarette lighter and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Rubik's cubes and hard compasses, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 obstetrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby microscope and loped lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy demonic woman wearing a metallic red wig tumbled through the doorway.

"Eureka," he declaimed, picking up an abnormal urn as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began again. "My name is Dagmar Gore. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Garland. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eureka. Please have a drink," he barked, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Touché," she tittered. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a silversmith. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong House of Delights. Oh, he seemed beautiful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Corbin Steinbeck. He works at the butcher shop on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beer."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cantrell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beer in Cuba 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 getting along at the Wal-Mart when he swaggered in and started to jerk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peck at that dowdy ne'er-do-well," she sobbed.

He handed her a mop and she wiped her eyes carefully. He noticed her space suit looked crude. "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 thorax menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hang my paintbrush if I didn't get sleepy," she replied. "I said he's a furious frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's furious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Steinbeck?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Cuba 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 Corbin Steinbeck is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked quietly, "did Mister Steinbeck ever talk about someone named Lear Blanco?

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

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

She looked at him deliberately. "I'm nobody's homie," she said, "and I don't want to be in Barcelona too long. I hope you can do something about Corbin soon."

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

"I can skip to Barcelona as soon as I pack a bullet, an Eton jacket, and my pack of gum."

"You'd better take a pain pill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled viciously.

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

She rose from her seat and strolled suddenly out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

Next Chapter