The woman drew back a little and slowly crossed her legs, a la Sharon Stone. It gave me a perfect view of her black panties, which, as it turned out, didn’t have a particularly puritan attitude toward preserving her privacy. Part of what the underwear was meant to hide beneath flashed for a moment outside the limited crotch area and made me wonder whether her gesture was a theatrical act or just innocent. I figured it was the second thing because my desk was tiny, and the chick had long, gorgeous legs; she just couldn’t cross them under the table.

“So you have a case for me, Miss Vorder…brug…gen, right?” I asked with difficulty. These German names have always given me a headache, and she mentioned hers very briefly.

“You can call me Sharon if you will,” the woman answered. “Yes, I have a case for you if you actually want it. Answering your phone took you like… forever, I should say.”

I frowned. She was a grim person, around thirty, with long, dark, shiny hair, green eyes, mathematically perfect but somehow cold and sterile features, and almost the same unfriendliness about her facial expressions. Her cheekbones and jaw had a sort of Alpine vibe—I mean, the vibe of people who lived there before the Second Barbarian Invasion, as racists here tend to call it. I just didn’t know why she thought I had some kind of duty to guard my telephone twenty-four hours a day.

“You know, Miss Vorder…bruggen,” I said sourly, “my career has bloomed lately. I’m busy with a couple of cases between the Small Antilles and here, which makes my professional life a bit harder to organize. If you want me to hear your story, you should really try walking in my shoes!”

The woman didn’t react to my biting remark or show any hint of uneasiness. Instead, she looked around my office in an attempt to estimate my “blooming career.” Unfortunately, there weren’t many obvious signs to support such a conclusion.

“If you’re that engaged, Mr. Mellrow,” she went on after a while, “it’s probably a good idea to take a better office, or an assistant, or at least a secretary!”

“Sure, Miss Vorderbruggen.” I skillfully dodged her attack. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll rent Voxhaff Grand Arena! Until then, though, you’ll have to make peace with presenting your case in this rather small but cozy environment. I mean, if you’re here for my services, of course. Quitting the small talk and getting down to business seems to take you forever, I should say!”

She shot me a malicious glare. From her look, I thought she was going to reach out and slap my face, but she only drew back again to uncross her legs, flashing me with her tiny panties for a second time. By the way, it was really tough for her not to do that because her black dress was as naughty as hell. Its fabric was so light and delicate that this planet’s gravity was insufficient to keep it on her body. I could see every little muscle trembling under the clothing and even the detailed “topography” of her nipples. The woman slowly took a picture out of her purse, and her gesture suddenly seemed alarming to me. It was a deja vu.

Still watching her, I wondered with a dose of uncertainty whether I would be able to cope with two cases simultaneously. I had actually decided to stop answering my telephone after agreeing to meet Miss Bjornson, but the device kept ringing so urgently that I eventually caved. I was already sorry about that. If Bobby Bjornson had appeared slightly untruthful when we talked earlier, this one, in front of me, I couldn’t trust even if she just wanted to shake hands with me!

Sharon, or whatever her real name was—I felt I couldn’t believe her about anything—held the photo out to me and waited like that. I left her hanging for a while just to humiliate her and show that I was my own boss, and then slowly took the picture. At first, nothing seemed strange about it. On the piece of paper, there was a sidewalk with an old building behind it. It was a grimy structure, more of an uptown place, with peeling walls and small terraces—one that gives you just the illusion of a balcony on which to have a quick cigarette or two. On the ground floor, along the sidewalk, there was a fast food restaurant with big French windows and dark red sofas around dirty wooden tables. The establishment looked like one of the Chinese diners that are more common these days in Greenland than traffic signs. Realizing what I was seeing, I shivered, and a red warning light started flashing in my head. Was this a coincidence? I really doubted it!

I turned my eyes toward Miss Vorderbruggen, now truly surprised. She was looking at the wall to my left as if gazing through a window, which was definitely missing in my office. She was obviously allowing me to take my time with the picture. I stayed patient and silent as I held the photo. I didn’t know what to say and definitely wanted to hear her story first. Eventually, she drew her eyes away from the magnificent “view” of my wall and looked back at me.

“The job’s pretty simple, Mr. Mellrow,” she suddenly explained. “I think you’ll most likely be able to do it.”

I didn’t like the “most likely” part or the fact that she stressed it, but I said nothing because my curiosity was far stronger at that moment than my pride. I let her talk.

“You’ll go to that particular place on the picture,” the woman went on, “on Fifth and Thirty-Sixth uptown, at half past noon, the day after tomorrow. A red telephone booth is tucked in the shadow of the trees across the street; you’ll see it.”

She paused to ensure I followed her and gazed for a few seconds at the desk between us. Obviously, she didn’t think much of me, which generally wouldn’t concern me, but I was suspicious now because of the weird similarities between my two cases. Something was definitely wrong with these clients of mine, and I decided to play a little game with this one.

“Okay, Miss Vorderbruggen, Let me guess,” I said serenely. “You want me to go to that place, hide in the booth you mentioned, and snap pictures of the guys meeting inside the restaurant? Am I right?”

Sharon raised her eyes sharply, looking at me fixedly. She didn’t show nervousness, though. She was cool, with her chest going up and down steadily and her hands, eyelids, and lips calm, which was pretty hard for most people in a situation of surprise.

“You do have impressive intuition, Mr. Mellrow!” she replied in a while. “I’ll admit I didn’t expect that!”

“Well, I have my moments sometimes,” I answered humbly. “But before I do anything for you, I want to know who you really are and why you need these photos. I can guarantee confidentiality, but I’d insist on knowing these details in advance. Call it an insurance policy, if you will!”

“Insurance policy against what?” she asked, intrigued. Like my previous client, this one didn’t seem eager to give details, but unlike her, Miss Vorderbruggen didn’t feel intimidated by my questions.

“It’s an insurance policy against me being left behind in a pickle!” I relied.

“Sure, Mr. Mellrow!” She suddenly agreed, which I didn’t expect because I thought I would have to fight for this information. “I work for an NGO. The name is Global Guards, although I doubt you’ve ever heard of it. We’re not on the news, you know.”

“Oh, you’re wrong!” I exclaimed, falsely excited. “You’re environmentalists, right?” I wanted to sound as nonchalant as possible, but inside, my anxiety was taking a harder and harder grip on me. This entire story was becoming weirder and weirder.

Sharon stood silent and still for a moment, thinking. Her face was stone-cold.

“Now you really surprised me!” she said after a while. “You even scare me a bit. Are you a mind reader?”

“No, I’m definitely not.” I shrugged. “The thing is that preserving nature is turning into a business these days, and NGOs like yours are springing up like mushrooms. They all have ‘green,’ ‘warriors,’ ‘guards,’ ‘peace,’ and ‘global’ in their names. It was an easy guess, actually!”

“Yes, right,” she admitted thoughtfully.

“So, what is this all about? Fill me in then,” I tried encouraging her to bring up Greenspace and the rhino horns. I was impatient to hear it again.

Sharon kept looking at me, suddenly suspicious, and reached into her purse to take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Then she stopped and glanced around her with uncertainty. There was no ventilation in my so-called “office,” whether natural or artificial, and the smoke detector on the ceiling would surely shriek like hell if she lit a cigarette. The woman realized that and returned the pack and the lighter to her purse.

“Here’s the deal,” she explained instead. “The boss of Greenspace, Ernesto Chavez, and Li Jin Tao, the boss of the Chinese mob here in Nuuk, will meet at that restaurant. Now, I won’t lie to you, Mr. Mellrow! The place is the residence of the local gang, and you can probably recognize it yourself from the news. Its name is ‘The Red Dragon,’ and the day after tomorrow, the two men are supposed to make a deal, which we want to fail. We need proof that they met and talked, and that’s why I’m here.

“I see. But what do you expect to achieve with such weak evidence?” I asked my client because I didn’t want her to feel too comfortable lying to me. “You’re hoping to stop whatever this deal is about with just a photo? I think Chins would be barely impressed, you know. With the help of their connections back in Chinasia, they’ll definitely survive the attack.”

“We already have enough materials against the Chinese and their deals here,” Sharon frowned. “Don’t think we’re amateurs! The whole thing is not about them; it’s about Chavez. He is our real target! But the man’s clever enough and kind of evasive, so the only way to expose him is to connect him to criminals who are well-known to police.”

“But why do you hate the guy so badly? What did he do to you?” I gave her my next “innocent” question. I didn’t actually expect her to tell me the truth, but I needed to compare her lies to Bjornson’s.

“Well, Greenspace has become a global evil these days,” Sharon explained reluctantly. “We have every reason to hate them, but in this particular case, it’s a business initiative of theirs that is going to destroy the entire population of rare African animals. We cannot just sit on our hands and watch it happen!”

“And what population is that?” I smiled cunningly, tempted to venture another guess. However, I stopped myself at the last moment because it would have been too much.

“South African swallows,” Sharon informed me evenly, without decorating her lies with any passion. Unlike my previous client, she didn’t even try to look concerned. I was absolutely sure she had never seen a South African swallow in her entire life.

“You know how the Chinese,” she went on, selling me more bullshit without feeling discomfort or shame, “are crazy about the birds, right? They have exterminated their own swallows because of the nests, which they consider a delicacy. Due to this, the market price of the stuff has quadrupled lately. So it’s a sweet deal for Chavez, and we know for a fact that he is planning to satisfy market demand in Asia with African swallows now.”

She paused again to see my reaction—she had that annoying habit—but I remained silent, thinking about how I had made a big mistake when I took Miss Bjornson’s case before this one. And even though I was trained after the fairy tale about the rhinoceroses, hearing about swallows now felt really ridiculous.

“They’ll arrange the details on the transport in the restaurant, and then the operation will be scheduled down in Africa.” The woman looked at my imaginary window again, obviously feeling she was slowly losing me. “The first containers with birds will arrive soon after that, I suppose.”

“How will they stuff so many of them in cages?” I heard myself asking, with no interest to know the answer. I felt like an idiot who everybody thought was gullible enough to send him on a wild goose chase for dragons and dwarfs! “Wouldn’t it be easier if they made them migrate here by messing with the magnetic glands in their brains?”

“No. They’ll come in containers on a transoceanic ship.” The “environmentalist” didn’t even try to indicate she knew I was joking. It made me wonder if she really thought I believed her. She couldn’t have been so naive! “And since I can clearly see you are not very enthusiastic about the idea, Mr. Mellrow,” Miss Vorderbruggen suddenly turned her emerald-green eyes back at me, “I would say that, from where I stand, it’s a very good job with only a moderate risk for a very good payment. I wouldn’t hesitate so much if I were you! You can get a lot of money for just an hour of easy work.”

I glanced at her stone-faced because I knew she was examining me, anticipating my reaction when I heard about the money she offered. At the same time, the edge of her dress had drawn back to the edge of her intimacy again, and because of the size of my office, it was all happening literally before my nose.

Of course, I eventually asked the inevitable question, which usually brings so many troubles into my life. I just couldn’t help it. “And how good is this payment, exactly?”

“It’s good enough. You’ll get ten grand in advance and twenty-five when you do the job.”

Even though I was well prepared for her bid, it still nearly knocked my socks off. I remained frozen and afraid to utter a word. I was mainly scared because of my reaction to the offer—I wasn’t sure how adequate it would be. Twenty-five grand from Miss Bjornson plus thirty-five here for the same thing was a dream job. Everything inside me was screaming, “Get out of this!” but how could anyone actually wave a hand and say “no” to such an opportunity?

“And the only thing you want is for me to take pictures of the meeting in the restaurant from a safe distance?” I vaguely heard myself saying it as if my voice were coming from underwater.

“Yes, the booth I mentioned is ancient. Nobody would ever use such a thing, so Chavez’s escort will presume it’s empty. You’ll be perfectly safe in there. In fact, the booth is essential for the job because the perspective is exactly as we need it, so I’d recommend that you follow our instructions closely and be there at 12:30 p.m. sharp. No later; no earlier!”

“Why not earlier?” I asked, intrigued. It seemed strange to me.

“I cannot guarantee Chavez’s thugs won’t search the area. I know, I just said they’d presume the booth to be empty, but they may have a peek anyway. However, when the meeting is on, they’ll stay closer to their boss, and you can sneak inside undisturbed.”

I looked at the woman thoughtfully. She had a good point here—something Miss Bjornson had completely missed because she wanted me at the restaurant at noon precisely. It made Vorderbruggen much more considerate of my safety, which actually surprised me. I quickly thought everything through and decided to risk it and combine the two jobs. Both my clients were obviously holding back from me, but I had already agreed to the first assignment, which was at the same place at the same time anyway, so it didn’t matter. What was meant to happen was going to happen despite my decision here. Besides, with some luck, I could get away with sixty grand in my pockets and have a breathing space for almost a year.

Over the next ten minutes, with a sinking heart, I cleared up the final details of the case without mentioning the other one in my schedule. I was sure the gangsters’ meeting wasn’t about rhino horns or stupid swallows and most probably drugs, but it was too late. I had already stepped into the shit, and now that I knew what it paid, I was simply unable to think about anything else. Thus, by the way, almost every trouble on this planet starts!

After we settled everything, my new client took an envelope out of her purse. I glanced at it with greedy eyes, and even though my heart was screaming with pain, I was glad to see it was adequately fat. Sure enough, as she rose and her dress rode up playfully, Miss Vorderbruggen flashed me with her sexy panties again, almost giving me a heart attack. A thick wave of enchanting perfume hit me in the face as well.

I stood up, too, to see her off. At the door, she sharply stopped to look at me. “Goodbye, Mr. Mellrow,” she said evenly. “I believe we’ll have a mutually beneficial collaboration in this case. I’ll call you soon for the camera and the additional instructions.”

I smiled and opened the door for her, and as Sharon passed me, we did the traditional dance with rubbing hips, which is almost mandatory for leaving Mellrow’s office. Then she finally left. Incidentally, I had the feeling she did the rubbing somewhat intentionally. It wasn’t the discreet Bjornson’s I-understand-the-inconveniences-of-your-small-office way, but rather a brutal I-wanna-feel-you-all-over-my-body approach.

After she was gone, I thoughtfully closed the door and turned around, fixing my eyes on the next identical-looking envelope on my desk within only an hour. Just like the first, this one didn’t promise anything good for me, making me think it would be wise to unplug my ancient telephone from the wall outlet immediately. The situation was ridiculous enough as it was, and I didn’t know if I would be able to handle yet another meeting with a client telling me the same goddamn bullshit again!

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