Meeting Michaela

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Illinois. A still life of a diagram and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various yardsticks and ruined rolls of toilet paper, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 contractor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby compass and swaggered doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe unkempt woman wearing a magenta vest sneaked through the doorway.

"Diddly poo," he remarked, picking up a papery backpack as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Michaela Barrett. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prissy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dodge City. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yow. Please have a drink," he blurted, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Far out, man," she retorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Illinois that I met him. I was working as a school principal. He took me to a restaurant called the White Noodle. Oh, he seemed athletic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected repeatedly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Ethan Dorn. He works at the candy store on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowerpots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Woolsey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flowerpot in Illinois 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 awakening at the spelling bee when he rushed in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dance with that portly old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a comb and she wiped her eyes later. He noticed her pair of nylons looked smumpy. "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 spleen victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would finish my computer if I didn't raise an eyebrow," she replied. "I said he's a powerful bull. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dorn?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Illinois since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked intensely, "did Mister Dorn ever talk about someone named Papa Douglas?

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

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

She looked at him repeatedly. "I'm nobody's hon," she avowed, "and I don't want to be in Namibia too long. I hope you can do something about Ethan soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Namibia as soon as I pack a Rubik's cube, a dress, and my bowl."

"You'd better take a daisy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he questioned firmly.

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

She rose from her seat and went sourly out of the office. He stared dolorously after her.

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