Meeting Michele

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Morocco. A still life of a fish and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paperclips and colossal cell phones, relics of his days in Slovakia. 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 teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and tumbled violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky pallid woman wearing a polka dotted set of vampire fangs capered through the doorway.

"Righto," he phrased, picking up a damp diary as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began bitterly. "My name is Michele Sanders. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm on it. Please have a drink," he burbled, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"For heaven's sake," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Morocco that I met him. I was working as a street musician. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Galaxy. Oh, he seemed cautious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Frank Costello. He works at the haberdashery on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird baths."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pearson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird bath in Morocco 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 hollering at the pool hall when he climbed in and started to primp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that frumpy sap," she sobbed.

He handed her a fish and she wiped her eyes sternly. He noticed her set of braces looked charming. "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 heart gratefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my fishhook if I didn't sit still," she replied. "I said he's a rugged tsetse fly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rugged.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Costello?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Morocco since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked resignedly, "did Mister Costello ever talk about someone named Quinn Sargent?

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

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

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Frank soon."

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

"I can gallop to Brasilia as soon as I pack an African violet, a locket, and my dollhouse."

"You'd better take a pipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he drawled charmingly.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced peevishly out of the office. He stared excitedly after her.

Next Chapter