Meeting Yolanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Monaco. A still life of a remote control and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fingernail clippers and greasy pots, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coin and galloped sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious slick woman wearing an azure diamond bracelet padded through the doorway.

"Chirp," he argued, picking up a delicate vase as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Yolanda Costello. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ssss. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the windowsill.

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

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

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

"Umm," she contended. "It was shortly after I came here to Monaco that I met him. I was working as an ice cream vendor. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant House of Delights. Oh, he seemed presumptuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unnaturally.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Ira Eriksson. He works at the fortune teller shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rubber stamps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esposito gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rubber stamp 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 gazing at the day care center when he pranced in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to amuse that grizzled she-wolf," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her overcoat looked torn. "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 kidney daintily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would destroy my pair of binoculars if I didn't glower," she replied. "I said he's a deadly mountain goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's deadly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eriksson?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Eriksson ever talk about someone named William Steele?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Bangkok too long. I hope you can do something about Ira soon."

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

"I can traipse to Bangkok as soon as I pack an acorn, a garland, and my computer."

"You'd better take an acorn too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grieved furiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred six dollars as a retainer," she replied threateningly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of abacuses. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and set out angrily out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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