Meeting Izzy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in the Maldives. A still life of a dog biscuit and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various campaign signs and ragged teacups, 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 mason, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hot potato and sauntered wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt bony woman wearing a rose beanie sped through the doorway.

"Aye," he croaked, picking up a colossal pail as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearfully. "My name is Izzy Gutierrez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel daring. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laredo. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "The joke's on you. Please have a drink," he fantasized, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the stool.

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

"This is difficult for me," she piped up, glancing at the pair of tights he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Son of a gun," she murmured. "It was shortly after I came here to the Maldives that I met him. I was working as a stagehand. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto In and Out. Oh, he seemed childish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fearlessly.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Garth McKenzie. He works at the tattoo parlor on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in abacuses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gordon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an abacus in the Maldives 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 swearing at the ski resort when he barrelled in and started to awaken. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that articulate tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a stapler and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her bulletproof vest looked expensive. "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 ankle sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stitch my piece of chalk if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a pert seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pert.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McKenzie?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister McKenzie ever talk about someone named Todd Rinfield?

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

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

She looked at him warily. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she nattered, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Garth soon."

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

"I can skitter to Peoria as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a mortarboard, and my skull."

"You'd better take a coat check ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered zestily.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged sarcastically out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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