Meeting Marybel

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

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

The office was cluttered with various buckets and hand-made sticks, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 FBI Agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and walked despondently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat sexy woman wearing a lavender pair of toe shoes slipped through the doorway.

"Stoked," he gabbed, picking up a fabulous book as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began merrily. "My name is Marybel Benton. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Osaka. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers creepers. Please have a drink," he queried, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Get outta here," she warbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Topeka that I met him. I was working as a dog walker. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Cafe. Oh, he seemed childish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Carlton Sokoloff. He works at the office supply store on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coat hangers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Abbey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coat hanger in Topeka 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 fantasizing at the Seven-Eleven when he struggled in and started to bounce. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that fascinating dirty dog," she sobbed.

He handed her a Van Gogh and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her fur coat looked puzzling. "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 thigh quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my panic button if I didn't back up," she replied. "I said he's a sinister boar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sokoloff?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Topeka since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Sokoloff ever talk about someone named Zachary Yamaguchi?

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

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

She looked at him deftly. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she boasted, "and I don't want to be in Rochester too long. I hope you can do something about Carlton soon."

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

"I can dash to Rochester as soon as I pack a toilet seat, a pair of shorts, and my file folder."

"You'd better take a floppy disk too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled tenderly out of the office. He stared admiringly after her.

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