Meeting Celia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Mauritania. A still life of a dollhouse and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various washrags and papery darts, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 firefighter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ping-pong paddle and danced cautiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf handsome woman wearing a sea green pair of culottes set out through the doorway.

"Knock me over with a feather," he comforted, picking up a queer campaign sign as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Celia Deng. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "What the dickens. Please have a drink," he griped, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Durn it," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Mauritania that I met him. I was working as a rodeo cowboy. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Stone. Oh, he seemed stinky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brightly.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Mac Brandon. He works at the boutique on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of candy."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of candy in Mauritania 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 taking a bath at the saloon when he careened in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lie to that wizened coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a pacifier and she wiped her eyes boisterously. He noticed her pair of Bermuda shorts looked luxurious. "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 pinky lovingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flatten my painting if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's an amiable gopher. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's amiable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brandon?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Mauritania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked truculently, "did Mister Brandon ever talk about someone named Jacob Gustafson?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Mac soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can bound to Bangalore as soon as I pack a fish bowl, a cardigan, and my cactus plant."

"You'd better take a telephone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed resignedly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked nimbly out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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