Meeting Latrina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Slovenia. A still life of a paperweight and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various viols and electric purses, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 stockbroker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby egg shell and darted sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed disheveled woman wearing an orange big smile scooted through the doorway.

"Knock me over with a feather," he hinted, picking up a clean chart as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Latrina Murphy. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lethargic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Voilà. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Out of this world," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Slovenia that I met him. I was working as a court jester. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Counter. Oh, he seemed bad enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Noel England. He works at the candy store on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bananas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Quinn gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a banana in Slovenia 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 flailing at the mall when he padded in and started to whirl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to please that slimy donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a peanut and she wiped her eyes frantically. He noticed her set of pink foam curlers looked well worn. "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 ear grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would categorize my Band-aid if I didn't exercise," she replied. "I said he's a demented wolf. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. England?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Slovenia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked majestically, "did Mister England ever talk about someone named Walt Greenshields?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's lover," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Noel soon."

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

"I can sail to Brasilia as soon as I pack a cork, a leotard, and my file folder."

"You'd better take a statue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he raved slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled hungrily out of the office. He stared zestily after her.

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