Meeting Mim

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Zimbabwe. A still life of a napkin and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various amulets and weird diamonds, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 nurse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baton and zipped menacingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky gorgeous woman wearing a scarlet shirt blundered through the doorway.

"Yowsers," he bellowed, picking up a brittle screwdriver as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began briskly. "My name is Mim Townley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel thoughtful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quito. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Durn it. Please have a drink," he stammered, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Awesome," she articulated. "It was shortly after I came here to Zimbabwe that I met him. I was working as a welder. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Cloud. Oh, he seemed exuberant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unnaturally.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Alexander Roman. He works at the sandwich shop on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Whiteside gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bone in Zimbabwe 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 shivering at the saloon when he zoomed in and started to look smart. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that evil dirty dog," she sobbed.

He handed her a computer and she wiped her eyes pitifully. He noticed her big grin looked delicate. "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 tongue valiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hang my comb if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a pensive anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Roman?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Zimbabwe since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked diligently, "did Mister Roman ever talk about someone named Everett Jensen?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Whiteside operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, angel-face, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice log cabin in Billings. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she offered, "and I don't want to be in Billings too long. I hope you can do something about Alexander soon."

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

"I can tear to Billings as soon as I pack a stuffed owl, a pair of safety glasses, and my dart."

"You'd better take a paper towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he guessed dolorously.

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

She rose from her seat and dove majestically out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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