Meeting Mindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Miami. A still life of a snare drum and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tickets and queer artificial flowers, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rock and sneaked fiercely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat frizzle-headed woman wearing a teal bicycle helmet jogged through the doorway.

"Blaak," he joked, picking up an archaic pencil as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began admiringly. "My name is Mindy Durand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel artistic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dayton. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aaack. Please have a drink," he laughed, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Bilge," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to Miami that I met him. I was working as a housekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Bison. Oh, he seemed disagreeable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected kindly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Phineas Verma. He works at the ad agency on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toilet seats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Goldfarb gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toilet seat in Miami 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 backing up at the laundromat when he ambled in and started to shake. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smile at that crafty wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a statue and she wiped her eyes furiously. He noticed her cat suit looked narrow. "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 esophagus needlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would check my rag if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a happy dingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Verma?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Miami since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked delicately, "did Mister Verma ever talk about someone named Dylan Grady?

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

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

She looked at him courteously. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Oslo too long. I hope you can do something about Phineas soon."

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

"I can saunter to Oslo as soon as I pack a brush, a pair of roller skates, and my iPad."

"You'd better take a cracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he comforted openly.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed again out of the office. He stared energetically after her.

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