Meeting Isabel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Zambia. A still life of a balloon and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cameras and worn blankets, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 stamp collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing rod and scampered recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky grubby woman wearing a yellow evening gown walked through the doorway.

"Yep," he grunted, picking up a fluffy abacus as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nonchalantly. "My name is Isabel Hanson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her stomach made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Golly. Please have a drink," he scoffed, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Geez Louise," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to Zambia that I met him. I was working as a poet. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Moon. Oh, he seemed emotional enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sourly.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Roman Rawlings. He works at the police station on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tissues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Murdoch gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tissue in Zambia 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 vomiting at the synagogue when he dove in and started to think. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that idiotic peabrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of duct tape and she wiped her eyes tenderly. He noticed her set of pink foam curlers looked electric. "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 claw nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wax my bird feeder if I didn't cough," she replied. "I said he's a brazen unicorn. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rawlings?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Zambia since then."

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

"Okay, so this Roman Rawlings 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 big toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and yelled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like wood since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tenderly, "did Mister Rawlings ever talk about someone named Alf Mondegreen?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she orated, "and I don't want to be in Waco too long. I hope you can do something about Roman soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can caper to Waco as soon as I pack a firecracker, a beret, and my clock."

"You'd better take a coupon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored calmly.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged recklessly out of the office. He stared mysteriously after her.

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