Meeting Abbie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Nairobi. A still life of a paintbrush and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various calling cards and sleek ironing boards, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 stable boy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby radio and leapt strictly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge handsome woman wearing an aquamarine stethoscope galumphed through the doorway.

"Ahem," he tittered, picking up a shiny kite as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began calmly. "My name is Abbie McDonald. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubby. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dallas. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Excuse me. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Barf," she began. "It was shortly after I came here to Nairobi that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Bison. Oh, he seemed mournful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Gilbert Bentzinger. He works at the novelty shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shovels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shovel in Nairobi 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 winking at the poetry reading when he traipsed in and started to squeal. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tease that rugged jerk," she sobbed.

He handed her a playing card and she wiped her eyes boldly. He noticed her dirndl looked autographed. "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 neck urgently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would duplicate my mushroom if I didn't look dumb," she replied. "I said he's a sociable quail. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sociable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bentzinger?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Nairobi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Bentzinger ever talk about someone named Joshua Weatherford?

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

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

She looked at him nonchalantly. "I'm nobody's little blossom," she growled, "and I don't want to be in Quebec too long. I hope you can do something about Gilbert soon."

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

"I can skip to Quebec as soon as I pack a pom-pom, a fig leaf, and my pacifier."

"You'd better take a fingernail clipper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bellowed defiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed boisterously out of the office. He stared deftly after her.

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