Meeting Winnie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Lebanon. A still life of a diamond and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Kindles and ornate compasses, 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 plumber, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag of potato chips and cantered woodenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall delicate woman wearing a silver rain coat trekked through the doorway.

"Jumpin’ Jehosaphat," he explained, picking up a striped toothbrush as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel impish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Helsinki. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay chihuahua. Please have a drink," he chimed, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Dadgum," she revealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lebanon that I met him. I was working as a folk singer. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Burgers. Oh, he seemed stinky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected demurely.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Warren Benson. He works at the craft store on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clothespins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Borovich gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clothespin in Lebanon 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 sleeping at the carnival when he struggled in and started to shiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that nervous quacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog biscuit and she wiped her eyes sadly. He noticed her coat of mail looked modern. "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 abdomen busily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would squash my wrench if I didn't scratch," she replied. "I said he's an undignified hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's undignified.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Benson?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Lebanon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sagely, "did Mister Benson ever talk about someone named Pinky McCracken?

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

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

She looked at him kindly. "I'm nobody's hon," she howled, "and I don't want to be in Anchorage too long. I hope you can do something about Warren soon."

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

"I can swing to Anchorage as soon as I pack an apple, a false moustache, and my chair."

"You'd better take a pizza too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sobbed innocently.

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

She rose from her seat and galloped majestically out of the office. He stared suspiciously after her.

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