Meeting Bethany

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Peru. A still life of a protest sign and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various combs and abnormal model airplanes, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 flight attendant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flag and strolled wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite brown-eyed woman wearing a beige gown scooted through the doorway.

"Jeepers creepers," he mentioned, picking up a woven fishhook as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sadly. "My name is Bethany Sweeney. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obedient. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Aurora. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Exaltations. Please have a drink," he groveled, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Incredible," she pointed out. "It was shortly after I came here to Peru that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Bison. Oh, he seemed childish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gruffly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Marty Marsden. He works at the police station on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flashlights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Daniels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flashlight in Peru 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 glaring at the Wal-Mart when he pranced in and started to grumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to arrest that sanguine simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a ball and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her pair of contact lenses looked art deco. "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 dignity carefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my pop bottle if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's a witty bison. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's witty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marsden?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Peru since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "did Mister Marsden ever talk about someone named Edmond Carver?

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

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

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she guessed, "and I don't want to be in Kalamazoo too long. I hope you can do something about Marty soon."

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

"I can careen to Kalamazoo as soon as I pack a vacuum cleaner, a sombrero, and my balloon."

"You'd better take a baton too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed resignedly out of the office. He stared perkily after her.

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