Meeting Diane

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Billings. A still life of a rag and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various advertisements and plain chamber pots, relics of his days in Kosovo. 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 tutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pop bottle and clambered irritably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short ugly woman wearing a black flak jacket pranced through the doorway.

"Um," he yowled, picking up an archaic chair as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boldly. "My name is Diane Gore. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel deadly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dubai. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cool beans. Please have a drink," he smirked, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Why not?," she swore. "It was shortly after I came here to Billings that I met him. I was working as an evangelist. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Home. Oh, he seemed frumpy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fiercely.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Lucky Titus. He works at the haberdashery on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dollhouses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Chopra gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dollhouse in Billings 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 clapping at the tanning salon when he strolled in and started to twitch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smack that obnoxious drunken royster," she sobbed.

He handed her a pacifier and she wiped her eyes repeatedly. He noticed her heavy layer of makeup looked filthy. "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 antenna carefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smell my rag if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a fierce computer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fierce.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Titus?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Billings since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suavely, "did Mister Titus ever talk about someone named Elmer Singh?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she emphasized, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Lucky soon."

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

"I can dive to Belgium as soon as I pack a bugle, a pair of jackboots, and my towel."

"You'd better take a telephone book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chimed energetically.

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

She rose from her seat and zipped frenetically out of the office. He stared madly after her.

Next Chapter