Meeting Dianna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of a battery and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various clams and plastic ingots of plutonium, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 escort, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bilge pump and tiptoed firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall white woman wearing an amber pair of cycling shorts crawled through the doorway.

"In your dreams," he asserted, picking up a crooked dead lynx as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began despondently. "My name is Dianna Ibrahim. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel timid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Brussels. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Grody to the max. Please have a drink," he hummed, handing her a cup of hot cider and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Shhh," she laughed. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a monk. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Butcher. Oh, he seemed bouncy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her cup of hot cider. "His name's Everett Lucas. He works at the police station on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in water bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Domínguez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a water bottle in St. Paul 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 chattering at the jail when he scooted in and started to barf. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chat with that disorganized dodo," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes automatically. He noticed her lab coat looked sophisticated. "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 ego wildly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my horseshoe if I didn't leer," she replied. "I said he's a childish jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's childish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lucas?"

"Only a week; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ferociously, "did Mister Lucas ever talk about someone named Pedro Coons?

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

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

She looked at him miserably. "I'm nobody's little one," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in Bakersfield too long. I hope you can do something about Everett soon."

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

"I can hop to Bakersfield as soon as I pack a spool of thread, a gunny sack, and my calling card."

"You'd better take a roll of duct tape too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked doubtfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's five hundred dollars as a retainer," she replied sweetly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of key rings. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and swung unabashedly out of the office. He stared gracefully after her.

Next Chapter