Meeting Claudia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Algeria. A still life of a pencil sharpener and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various necklaces and thick purses, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 astronomer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stone and clambered hysterically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous plump woman wearing a rose burqa danced through the doorway.

"Grody to the max," he quavered, picking up an immense map as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crossly. "My name is Claudia Bratt. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel awkward. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in El Paso. Her chin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "@#%#^@%$@!. Please have a drink," he stormed, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Gee whillikers," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to Algeria that I met him. I was working as an appliance repairman. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Burgers. Oh, he seemed phlegmatic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected charmingly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Austin Lee. He works at the storage unit on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of pliers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hudson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of pliers in Algeria 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 swallowing at the miniature golf course when he skipped in and started to rock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to make a face at that tired troglodyte," she sobbed.

He handed her a corsage and she wiped her eyes hopelessly. He noticed her award medal looked stuffed. "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 fingernail admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stabilize my toilet plunger if I didn't swallow," she replied. "I said he's a deadly newt. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's deadly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lee?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Lee ever talk about someone named Emile Winchester?

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

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's treasure," she declaimed, "and I don't want to be in Swaziland too long. I hope you can do something about Austin soon."

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

"I can barrel to Swaziland as soon as I pack a bone, a party hat, and my flyswatter."

"You'd better take a wrench too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he orated testily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy dollars as a retainer," she replied anxiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of salt shakers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ran haughtily out of the office. He stared woefully after her.

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