Meeting Mirabel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in New Orleans. A still life of a jar of olives and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ingots of plutonium and plastic cupcakes, relics of his days in Albania. 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 criminal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stuffed kitten and lurched pitifully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky slender woman wearing a chartreuse baseball cap swaggered through the doorway.

"Woof," he intoned, picking up a waxy washrag as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Mirabel Van Hollen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington DC. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bah. Please have a drink," he retorted, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Whoa," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to New Orleans that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Shoe. Oh, he seemed solitary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grimly.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Cody Tweedie. He works at the police station on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toothbrushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schmuckley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toothbrush in New Orleans 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 wiggling at the swimming pool when he paraded in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to heckle that sophisticated dumbbell," she sobbed.

He handed her a spoon and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her skeleton costume looked fresh. "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 tail timidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shove my piece of chalk if I didn't fulminate," she replied. "I said he's a self-assured spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-assured.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tweedie?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Tweedie ever talk about someone named Phineas Schmoe?

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

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

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's patootie," she cried, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Cody soon."

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

"I can jog to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a brochure, a girdle, and my pipe."

"You'd better take an oriental vase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he realized courageously.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded crazily out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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