Meeting Flo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lexington. A still life of a gun and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various helmets and gooey hair brushes, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 judge, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chain and scampered surreptitiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky winsome woman wearing a chocolate brown pair of earrings proceeded through the doorway.

"Shazam," he groaned, picking up a dusty paperweight as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began smoothly. "My name is Flo Henderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dapper. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montevideo. Her little toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Banzai. Please have a drink," he breathed, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Godspeed," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Lexington that I met him. I was working as a traveling salesman. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed dapper enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Kris Sanabria. He works at the ice cream parlor on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sacks of potatoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oggendorf gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a sack of potatoes in Lexington 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 gasping at the Wal-Mart when he trekked in and started to cheer up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to delight that bizarre idjit," she sobbed.

He handed her a dollar bill and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her derby looked magnificent. "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 eyebrow immediately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my brush if I didn't rest," she replied. "I said he's a pigeon-toed otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pigeon-toed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sanabria?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Sanabria ever talk about someone named Borat Shepard?

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

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

She looked at him unnaturally. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she requested, "and I don't want to be in Jakarta too long. I hope you can do something about Kris soon."

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

"I can dive to Jakarta as soon as I pack a skull, a robe, and my bowl."

"You'd better take a plaque too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he revealed gratefully.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed awkwardly out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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