Meeting Queenie

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

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

The office was adorned with various cans of beans and cardboard Kindles, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 wallpaper hanger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clothespin and jumped rapidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby frizzle-headed woman wearing a brilliant orange tie careened through the doorway.

"Eeek," he insisted, picking up a stuffed carrot as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began proudly. "My name is Queenie Bean. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lubbock. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zap. Please have a drink," he belched, handing her a bottle of Gatorade and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Criminy," she wondered. "It was shortly after I came here to Uganda that I met him. I was working as an escort. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Chef. Oh, he seemed confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected surreptitiously.

She stared into her bottle of Gatorade. "His name's Calvin Friedman. He works at the pub on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mushrooms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Adler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mushroom in Uganda 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 turning blue at the K-Mart when he cantered in and started to hang around. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to surprise that bold witch," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of perfume and she wiped her eyes irritably. He noticed her pair of booties looked nice. "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 lip stupidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would replace my map if I didn't grunt," she replied. "I said he's a carefree rabbit. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's carefree.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Friedman?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Uganda since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked despondently, "did Mister Friedman ever talk about someone named Mahatma Bibbles?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she stated, "and I don't want to be in Quebec too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can slump to Quebec as soon as I pack a paper bag, a nightgown, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a diary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he barked offhandedly.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled deftly out of the office. He stared haughtily after her.

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