Meeting Mary

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of an ashtray and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bedpans and cheap comic books, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 helicopter pilot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby book and jumped hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe tattooed woman wearing a striped sombrero careened through the doorway.

"Ay chihuahua," he drawled, picking up an original potato as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel taciturn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Davenport. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Grrrrr," she grunted. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a pianist. He took me to a restaurant called Doc's Beanery. Oh, he seemed dark enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suspiciously.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Jackson Tucker. He works at the library on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McClain gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Chattanooga 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 wandering at the spelling bee when he blundered in and started to purr. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to satisfy that mindless madman," she sobbed.

He handed her a pack of gum and she wiped her eyes briskly. He noticed her jerkin looked amazing. "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 hair softly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would deliver my doily if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a sweet jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sweet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tucker?"

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

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

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

He sounded more diabolical than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his jaw 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 a barnyard since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Tucker ever talk about someone named Francisco Greer?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's doll," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Lesotho too long. I hope you can do something about Jackson soon."

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

"I can sneak to Lesotho as soon as I pack a piece of chalk, a smartwatch, and my needle and thread."

"You'd better take a picture too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he snorted confidently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eighty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied grandly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of coat hangers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and reeled admiringly out of the office. He stared warmly after her.

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