Meeting Olga

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Nigeria. A still life of a flash drive and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ingots of plutonium and big mousetraps, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 computer geek, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby napkin and bolted glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous plain woman wearing a golden loincloth traipsed through the doorway.

"Fine," he chanted, picking up a speckled carrot as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began anxiously. "My name is Olga LaSalle. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sketchy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sunnyvale. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay chihuahua. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a Tom Collins and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Hot dog," she belched. "It was shortly after I came here to Nigeria that I met him. I was working as a writer. He took me to a restaurant called the City Apple. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bravely.

She stared into her Tom Collins. "His name's Jules Ortega. He works at the barbershop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Witherspoon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Nigeria 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 humming at the miniature golf course when he climbed in and started to pray. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to get to know that enthusiastic ninny," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of ice and she wiped her eyes cautiously. He noticed her Eton jacket looked porcelain. "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 foot woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clean my gun if I didn't wander," she replied. "I said he's a loving tiger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ortega?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Nigeria since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blindly, "did Mister Ortega ever talk about someone named Charles Lewis?

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

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

She looked at him caustically. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she grunted, "and I don't want to be in the Amazon too long. I hope you can do something about Jules soon."

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

"I can run to the Amazon as soon as I pack a Rubik's cube, a pair of Reeboks, and my iPhone."

"You'd better take an abacus too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he trumpeted greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed carefully out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

Next Chapter