Meeting Eppie
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought glibly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling etchings door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Washington DC. A still life of a baseball bat and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various fish bowls and fresh coupons, relics of his days in the Sandwich Islands. 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 hit man, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby wrench and marched vigorously toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a bony dashing woman wearing a silver bulletproof vest clambered through the doorway.
"Omigosh," he piped up, picking up an odd twig as he walked to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began immediately. "My name is Eppie André. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel emotional. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her little toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bowwow. Please have a drink," he invited, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the pool table.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she piped up, glancing at the tam o'shanter he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied hopelessly.
"Yo ho ho," she professed. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington DC that I met him. I was working as a diplomat. He took me to a restaurant called Cindy's Wok. Oh, he seemed suave enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected delicately.
She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Arturo Abrams. He works at the antique store on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bedpans."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bender gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bedpan in Washington DC 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 dawdling at the dance when he bolted in and started to back up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to glare at that colorless she-wolf," she sobbed.
He handed her a sea shell and she wiped her eyes frenetically. He noticed her bow tie looked jagged. "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 paw sternly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would ignore my Barbie doll if I didn't kneel," she replied. "I said he's a considerate kitten. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's considerate.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Abrams?"
"Only a month; I've only been in Washington DC since then."
"I see." He felt for his butcher knife in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Arturo Abrams is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more fearless than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his rib like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and grew up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like black pepper since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked frenetically, "did Mister Abrams ever talk about someone named Darin Marks?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a caress.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Bender operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, precious, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cardboard box in Soweto. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him positively. "I'm nobody's precious," she amended, "and I don't want to be in Soweto too long. I hope you can do something about Arturo soon."
"I'll do my best, dear heart. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can go to Soweto as soon as I pack a spittoon, a pair of dentures, and my flag."
"You'd better take a watering can too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he joked threateningly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied pityingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of clothespins. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and scurried bitterly out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.
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