Meeting Rebecca

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Concord. A still life of a banana and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pipes and hollow pictures, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 security guard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spittoon and waded clumsily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive homely woman wearing a pea green motorcycle helmet slid through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he howled, picking up an odd book as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began roughly. "My name is Rebecca Dick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel urbane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Delhi. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Egad. Please have a drink," he worried, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Aha," she sobbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Concord that I met him. I was working as a consultant. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Pig. Oh, he seemed sanguine enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected peevishly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Edward Grover. He works at the art museum on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wheeler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in Concord 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 burbling at the laundromat when he stalked in and started to adjust the clock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that daring lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a suitcase and she wiped her eyes numbly. He noticed her pair of combat boots looked used. "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 ego positively. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stab my mop if I didn't squint," she replied. "I said he's a polite giraffe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's polite.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grover?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Concord since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister Grover ever talk about someone named Newton Steele?

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

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

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm nobody's bunny," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Edward soon."

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

"I can skip to Belgium as soon as I pack a piece of paper, a straitjacket, and my rubber chicken."

"You'd better take a garbage can too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged hopelessly out of the office. He stared awkwardly after her.

Next Chapter