Meeting Esmeralda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Norway. A still life of a hacksaw and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of dice and fabulous maps, 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 diver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bicycle and struggled cautiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short unkempt woman wearing a navy blue pair of Crocs galloped through the doorway.

"Holy Mother of Petunias," he maintained, picking up a big stuffed kitten as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Esmeralda Oldfather. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel radiant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her nose made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Begad. Please have a drink," he worried, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Sheesh," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Norway that I met him. I was working as a scientist. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Orchid. Oh, he seemed disgusting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected smoothly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Mao Fritz. He works at the coffee shop on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peace pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hughes gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peace pipe in Norway 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 rejoicing at the mall when he reeled in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to care for that masculine blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of painkillers and she wiped her eyes immediately. He noticed her flak jacket looked dirty. "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 little finger bravely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would certify my pepper grinder if I didn't flail," she replied. "I said he's an amiable jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's amiable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fritz?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked briskly, "did Mister Fritz ever talk about someone named Dakota Scoville?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she shrieked, "and I don't want to be in Trenton too long. I hope you can do something about Mao soon."

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

"I can zip to Trenton as soon as I pack a pot, a motorcycle helmet, and my brush."

"You'd better take a wastebasket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he thought strictly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove later out of the office. He stared victoriously after her.

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