Meeting Mary Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Ann Arbor. A still life of a hammer and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bottles and electric muffins, relics of his days in France. 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 midwife, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rose and galloped lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short frumpy woman wearing an olive green tuxedo cantered through the doorway.

"Out of this world," he divulged, picking up a damp picture as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began grudgingly. "My name is Mary Lou Baldwin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Timbuktu. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yo ho ho. Please have a drink," he suggested, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Roger that," she requested. "It was shortly after I came here to Ann Arbor that I met him. I was working as a village idiot. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Tiger. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected despondently.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Rutherford McDermott. He works at the coffee shop on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Moreland gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a book in Ann Arbor 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 curtseying at the restaurant when he tramped in and started to dilly-dally. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to challenge that cruel loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber chicken and she wiped her eyes wearily. He noticed her pair of Crocs looked broken. "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 throat primly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would deliver my feather if I didn't murmur," she replied. "I said he's a wizened cheetah. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wizened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDermott?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Ann Arbor since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked intensely, "did Mister McDermott ever talk about someone named Gavin Pope?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's beefcake," she reminded, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Rutherford soon."

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

"I can scoot to Seoul as soon as I pack a basketball, a smartwatch, and my cowbell."

"You'd better take a pencil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he invited sternly.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced hungrily out of the office. He stared gleefully after her.

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