Meeting Deborah

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Soweto. A still life of a computer and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various darts and imitation batons, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 costume designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dart and capered immediately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite slender woman wearing a red cap waltzed through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he breathed, picking up an ordinary firecracker as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began defiantly. "My name is Deborah Dingwell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Junction. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hush. Please have a drink," he purred, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Alrighty," she blustered. "It was shortly after I came here to Soweto that I met him. I was working as a woodworker. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed cuddly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cruelly.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Eric Knotts. He works at the sandwich shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Garvey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in Soweto 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 hollering at the bagel shop when he bolted in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that furry coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of candy and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her dunce cap looked small. "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 skull glumly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would overlook my urn if I didn't crouch," she replied. "I said he's a pesky puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pesky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Knotts?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Soweto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slowly, "did Mister Knotts ever talk about someone named Mac Abrams?

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

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

She looked at him greedily. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Wyoming too long. I hope you can do something about Eric soon."

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

"I can barrel to Wyoming as soon as I pack a map, a bodysuit, and my cardboard box."

"You'd better take a pillow too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered recklessly.

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

She rose from her seat and zipped swiftly out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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