Meeting Phyllis

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Malaysia. A still life of a computer and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various washrags and sleek twigs, relics of his days in Germany. 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 grocer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby comb and went nonchalantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget blushing woman wearing an olive green turtleneck reeled through the doorway.

"Wahoo," he blurted, picking up a striped smart phone as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Phyllis Stucky. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel poised. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montreal. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Who cares. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Blaak," she squawked. "It was shortly after I came here to Malaysia that I met him. I was working as a student. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Garden. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sheepishly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Raúl Coleman. He works at the Hallmark shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cradduck gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cork in Malaysia 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 rocking at the health food store when he jumped in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shrink that lethargic blackguard," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper towel and she wiped her eyes lazily. He noticed her moustache looked flaky. "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 nostril properly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would control my billiard ball if I didn't howl," she replied. "I said he's a thoughtful manticore. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's thoughtful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Coleman?"

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

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

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

He sounded more high-strung than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his knuckle like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and passed out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like mango since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked despondently, "did Mister Coleman ever talk about someone named George Hanson?

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

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

She looked at him sorrowfully. "I'm nobody's pookie," she wept, "and I don't want to be in Afghanistan too long. I hope you can do something about Raúl soon."

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

"I can slump to Afghanistan as soon as I pack a cell phone, a sport coat, and my dollhouse."

"You'd better take a stuffed owl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boasted diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk temperamentally out of the office. He stared again after her.

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