Meeting Harriet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Argentina. A still life of a fossil and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various magnets and loose air compressors, relics of his days in Canada. 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 dance instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing rod and stalked carelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget nervous woman wearing a grey Armani suit padded through the doorway.

"Cowabunga," he explained, picking up a rare teapot as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Harriet Trane. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel big. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shreveport. Her palm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hee haw. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Hurray," she chattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Argentina that I met him. I was working as a valet. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Food Truck. Oh, he seemed young enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Solomon Flores. He works at the shoe shine booth on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coat hangers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the DeGraff gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coat hanger in Argentina 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 staring into space at the Elvis chapel when he clambered in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poke that presumptuous dingleberry," she sobbed.

He handed her a horseshoe and she wiped her eyes daringly. He noticed her pocket watch looked valuable. "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 hip calmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refine my Egyptian mummy if I didn't jump," she replied. "I said he's a desperate ostrich. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's desperate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flores?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Argentina since then."

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

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

He sounded more queer 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 played Farmer in the Dell for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Avon since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Flores ever talk about someone named Nathan Quinlan?

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

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

She looked at him gratefully. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Singapore too long. I hope you can do something about Solomon soon."

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

"I can tramp to Singapore as soon as I pack a business card, a pair of sandals, and my stick."

"You'd better take an umbrella too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered boldly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's ninety dollars as a retainer," she replied surreptitiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pieces of paper. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and zoomed dolefully out of the office. He stared carelessly after her.

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