Meeting Samina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a carrot and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Van Goghs and huge baseball bats, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 undertaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of headphones and tore unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive handsome woman wearing an ivory award medal slithered through the doorway.

"Woops," he vouched, picking up a hand-painted rope as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Samina Woolsey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Acapulco. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless my britches. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the footstool.

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

"This is difficult for me," she repeated, glancing at the pair of boxing gloves he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Bravo," she rumored. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a street musician. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed passionate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Louie Seymour. He works at the flower shop on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chamber pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sweeney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chamber pot in Lincoln 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 backing up at the carnival when he sauntered in and started to get away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that friendly blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a biscuit and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her pair of socks looked abnormal. "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 pinky dolorously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my cowbell if I didn't cheer," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn cockatiel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Seymour?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Lincoln since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked violently, "did Mister Seymour ever talk about someone named Oliver Bartholomew?

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

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

She looked at him elatedly. "I'm nobody's patootie," she boomed, "and I don't want to be in Belarus too long. I hope you can do something about Louie soon."

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

"I can scamper to Belarus as soon as I pack a rock, a baseball cap, and my cookbook."

"You'd better take a coloring book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred gruffly.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced recklessly out of the office. He stared softly after her.

Next Chapter