Meeting Doralene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a cotton ball and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various key rings and amazing brochures, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 woodcarver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird feeder and scurried joyously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight scraggly woman wearing a burgundy corsage rushed through the doorway.

"I'll bet," he grunted, picking up an odd umbrella as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wildly. "My name is Doralene Banks. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel solitary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Scottsdale. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Feh. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the piano.

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

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

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

"How about that," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a soldier. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's David Papadopoulos. He works at the gift shop on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frankle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in the Amazon 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 getting rigid at the Wal-Mart when he swung in and started to quiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to banish that resolute dolt," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of toilet paper and she wiped her eyes curiously. He noticed her locket looked synthetic. "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 buttocks lazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would score my plaque if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a merry fox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Papadopoulos?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked oddly, "did Mister Papadopoulos ever talk about someone named Christopher McKenzie?

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

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

She looked at him dreamily. "I'm nobody's love," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about David soon."

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

"I can gallop to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a duffel bag, a pair of suspenders, and my pair of pliers."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he protested vacantly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed angrily out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

Next Chapter