Meeting Evelyn

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

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

The office was cluttered with various sacks and musty photographs, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 marketing manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magazine and tramped bitterly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe scruffy woman wearing an orange swimsuit cantered through the doorway.

"Remarkable," he maintained, picking up a smumpy ball as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nervously. "My name is Evelyn Cannon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shame. Please have a drink," he began, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Jiminy crickets," she blubbered. "It was shortly after I came here to Lima that I met him. I was working as a hoarder. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Knife. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Perry Strait. He works at the used car lot on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pom-poms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mouse gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pom-pom in Lima 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 cheering at the tanning salon when he stalked in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that fascinating doofus," she sobbed.

He handed her a Kindle and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her bustier looked crude. "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 neck sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would patch my sack if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's a hirsute spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hirsute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Strait?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Lima 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 Perry Strait is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Strait ever talk about someone named Bert Bowers?

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

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

She looked at him briskly. "I'm nobody's angel," she griped, "and I don't want to be in Zanzibar too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can go to Zanzibar as soon as I pack an avocado, a parka, and my padlock."

"You'd better take a firecracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he queried gently.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed lamely out of the office. He stared despondently after her.

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