Meeting Sierra

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Niger. A still life of a spittoon and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bottles and huge church keys, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 peanut vendor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flute and slumped swiftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious alert woman wearing an indigo pair of pantaloons leapt through the doorway.

"Okay," he screamed, picking up an ornate comic book as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began defiantly. "My name is Sierra McDermott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Birmingham. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dadgum. Please have a drink," he declaimed, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Sieg Heil," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to Niger that I met him. I was working as a physics teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Flower. Oh, he seemed wizened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Nicolas Hayashida. He works at the bike shop on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in notebooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Proctor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a notebook in Niger 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 shivering at the bedroom when he scurried in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to arrest that agile egomaniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a fingernail clipper and she wiped her eyes courageously. He noticed her camisole looked hand-carved. "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 ear warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would load my hip flask if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a carefree gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's carefree.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hayashida?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shakily, "did Mister Hayashida ever talk about someone named Macon Palomino?

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

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

She looked at him nicely. "I'm nobody's kitten," she maintained, "and I don't want to be in Senegal too long. I hope you can do something about Nicolas soon."

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

"I can skid to Senegal as soon as I pack a hip flask, a set of camo fatigues, and my pop bottle."

"You'd better take a bag of groceries too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered peevishly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred seventy-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied fondly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of water bottles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and trekked sadly out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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