Meeting May

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Denmark. A still life of a flashlight and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various buckets and striking pencil sharpeners, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 draftsman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby banana and walked grimly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature feeble woman wearing a beige Panama hat zoomed through the doorway.

"Malarkey," he squeaked, picking up a striking stamp as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vigorously. "My name is May Yang. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gentle. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hiroshima. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woops. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Gosh almighty," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Denmark that I met him. I was working as a spy. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed ungainly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Manfred McDermott. He works at the Hallmark shop on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pepper grinders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mancini gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pepper grinder in Denmark 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 freaking out at the movie theater when he trotted in and started to fall asleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shrink that stern fanatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a ping-pong paddle and she wiped her eyes wryly. He noticed her coat of mail 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 wrist offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would submerse my bicycle if I didn't show up," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn lamb. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDermott?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Denmark since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopelessly, "did Mister McDermott ever talk about someone named Montague Dion?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's darling," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in Moldova too long. I hope you can do something about Manfred soon."

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

"I can leap to Moldova as soon as I pack a vase, a bulletproof vest, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a cowbell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed gruffly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered trustingly out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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