Meeting Robin

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Portland. A still life of a flute and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dictionaries and greasy business cards, 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 attorney, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby box of Kleenex and made a beeline hopefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy pallid woman wearing an aqua tutu scampered through the doorway.

"Knock me over with a feather," he squawked, picking up a fabulous spider as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Robin Wallace. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel resolute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Well. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a whiskey and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Cripes," she declared. "It was shortly after I came here to Portland that I met him. I was working as a puppeteer. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Moon. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her whiskey. "His name's Henry Graziano. He works at the art gallery on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in suitcases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Benton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a suitcase in Portland 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 carrying on at the swimming pool when he struggled in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that hysterical turkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a key and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her bustier looked hard. "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 mouth dubiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would squash my elephant tusk if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's a daring meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Graziano?"

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

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

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

He sounded more muddled than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his gall bladder like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got along for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like an old goat since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked proudly, "did Mister Graziano ever talk about someone named Bob Eisley?

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

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

She looked at him majestically. "I'm nobody's queenie," she spoke up, "and I don't want to be in Hell too long. I hope you can do something about Henry soon."

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

"I can dive to Hell as soon as I pack a padlock, an overcoat, and my calling card."

"You'd better take an air compressor too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and capered intensely out of the office. He stared angrily after her.

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