Meeting Marybel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Ivory Coast. A still life of a sponge and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various magnifying glasses and peculiar stopwatches, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 interpreter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piggy bank and staggered excitedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin tattooed woman wearing a red pair of shoes cantered through the doorway.

"Durn it," he crooned, picking up a hefty sack as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unexpectedly. "My name is Marybel Houston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fashionable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Toledo. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Excuse me. Please have a drink," he brought up, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Maybe," she retorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Ivory Coast that I met him. I was working as a professional dancer. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Diner. Oh, he seemed lethargic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nimbly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Rufus Matthews. He works at the music store on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in napkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wallace gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a napkin in Ivory Coast 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 groaning at the gyro shop when he tramped in and started to belch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that peculiar flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a corncob and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her pair of cargo pants looked archaic. "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 pinky offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would propel my cactus plant if I didn't swoon," she replied. "I said he's a shiftless phantom. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's shiftless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Matthews?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Matthews ever talk about someone named Noah Palmer?

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

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

She looked at him greedily. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she interpreted, "and I don't want to be in Niger too long. I hope you can do something about Rufus soon."

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

"I can stagger to Niger as soon as I pack a carrot, a set of pink foam curlers, and my deck of cards."

"You'd better take an orchid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he piped up openly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred fifty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied temperamentally. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cell phones. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and jogged peevishly out of the office. He stared brashly after her.

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