Meeting Meghan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Monaco. A still life of a watering can and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various helmets and shiny campaign signs, relics of his days in Angola. 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 sales representative, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orange and straggled energetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth Asian woman wearing an aqua kilt dove through the doorway.

"As if," he suggested, picking up an ornate coat check ticket as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wryly. "My name is Meghan Porterfield. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel paranoid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lubbock. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh darn. Please have a drink," he griped, handing her a glass of tomato juice and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Yeeshka," she accused. "It was shortly after I came here to Monaco that I met him. I was working as a housekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Forest. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grimly.

She stared into her glass of tomato juice. "His name's Matthew Domínguez. He works at the deli on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Panzer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in Monaco 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 falling asleep at the ski slope when he capered in and started to chatter. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to demean that stylish sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her a coupon and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her girdle looked fancy. "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 throat stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my toilet seat if I didn't curtsey," she replied. "I said he's a sanguine dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sanguine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Domínguez?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Domínguez ever talk about someone named Allan Gonzales?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him boldly. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she lectured, "and I don't want to be in Oslo too long. I hope you can do something about Matthew soon."

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

"I can sail to Oslo as soon as I pack a suitcase, a garland, and my tote bag."

"You'd better take a cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blathered dolefully.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked uselessly out of the office. He stared valiantly after her.

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