Meeting Lorrie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a plaque and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various muffins and unusual backpacks, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 groundskeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather duster and staggered bitterly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout dark woman wearing a violet necklace made a beeline through the doorway.

"Durn," he taunted, picking up a shiny Barbie doll as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel agitated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cleveland. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Godspeed. Please have a drink," he piped up, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Brrr," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a songwriter. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Oven. Oh, he seemed cantankerous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected calmly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Kurt Samaniego. He works at the library on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fossils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Norman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fossil in Brussels 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 weeping at the movie theater when he skipped in and started to snuffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to satisfy that colorless eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of duct tape and she wiped her eyes fondly. He noticed her wig looked synthetic. "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 heart effortlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swirl my smart phone if I didn't grimace," she replied. "I said he's a bad anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bad.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Samaniego?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Samaniego ever talk about someone named Melvin Hart?

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

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

She looked at him jokingly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she responded, "and I don't want to be in Yakima too long. I hope you can do something about Kurt soon."

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

"I can scamper to Yakima as soon as I pack an urn, an earring, and my chain."

"You'd better take a vase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he urged vacantly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled despondently out of the office. He stared excitedly after her.

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