Meeting Scarlett

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Mauritania. A still life of a stamp and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dollhouses and thick combs, relics of his days in Macedonia. 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 hair stylist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil sharpener and clambered threateningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous eye-catching woman wearing a polka dotted Superman costume zipped through the doorway.

"Nuts," he whimpered, picking up a wet magazine as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wryly. "My name is Scarlett Nighthawk. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obese. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dar es Salaam. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crud. Please have a drink," he simpered, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Mother of peanut butter," she bellowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Mauritania that I met him. I was working as a short order cook. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Noodle. Oh, he seemed masculine enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected threateningly.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Fido Roe. He works at the perfumery on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in contracts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Falcon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a contract 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 humming at the carnival when he went in and started to chew. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to needle that lively simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a doily and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her fur coat looked decrepit. "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 shin frenetically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grind my pair of binoculars if I didn't do nothing," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal kitten. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Roe?"

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

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

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

He sounded more direct 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 ran for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a candle shop since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Roe ever talk about someone named Aaron Mackintosh?

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

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

She looked at him lazily. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she grunted, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Fido soon."

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

"I can galumph to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a fork, a sari, and my Van Gogh."

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

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty dollars as a retainer," she replied strangely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pieces of paper. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ran nicely out of the office. He stared silently after her.

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