Meeting Rosie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Chile. A still life of a stuffed kitten and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various remote controls and big pencil sharpeners, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 hobo, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby box of Kleenex and zipped later toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious undersized woman wearing an indigo tool belt jogged through the doorway.

"W00t," he amended, picking up an immense bullet as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began steadily. "My name is Rosie Webb. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spindly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Phoenix. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the dresser.

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

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

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

"Hot dog," she interrupted. "It was shortly after I came here to Chile that I met him. I was working as a television newscaster. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed dapper enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daringly.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Desmond Rebensdorf. He works at the pub on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Khanh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in Chile 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 talking at the poetry reading when he danced in and started to do nothing. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to please that ignoble creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a flowerpot and she wiped her eyes cautiously. He noticed her fez looked gruesome. "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 big toe daringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would play with my iPod if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a fearful cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rebensdorf?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Chile since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Rebensdorf ever talk about someone named Gunther Wozniak?

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

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

She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's honey," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Desmond soon."

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

"I can waddle to Chad as soon as I pack an ashtray, a pair of overalls, and my bullet."

"You'd better take an iPad too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled viciously.

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

She rose from her seat and crept fervently out of the office. He stared testily after her.

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