Meeting Marion

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in New Orleans. A still life of a box and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various forks and electronic hubcaps, relics of his days in Belize. 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 optician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby key and tramped glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall pretty woman wearing a metallic red bedsheet sneaked through the doorway.

"Woof," he smirked, picking up an ornate bugle as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Marion Potter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irvine. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Isht. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Chirp," she howled. "It was shortly after I came here to New Orleans that I met him. I was working as an usher. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar In and Out. Oh, he seemed cunning enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Larry Mantzios. He works at the flower shop on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bottles of perfume."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rudnick gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bottle of perfume in New Orleans 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 digesting at the pet store when he climbed in and started to tread water. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that impish lunatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a rag and she wiped her eyes fearlessly. He noticed her cheerleader's uniform looked rusty. "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 thyroid gland briskly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfold my peace pipe if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a peculiar reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's peculiar.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mantzios?"

"Only a week; I've only been in New Orleans since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Mantzios ever talk about someone named Calvin Sims?

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

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Bucharest too long. I hope you can do something about Larry soon."

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

"I can zip to Bucharest as soon as I pack a corsage, a scarf, and my stopwatch."

"You'd better take a cream puff too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he burbled hastily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred sixty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied confidently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of decks of cards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and paraded suspiciously out of the office. He stared diligently after her.

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