Meeting Minnie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Mali. A still life of a water bottle and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various soccer balls and hand-made hats, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 church usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shovel and zoomed mysteriously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall suave woman wearing a jet black tank top crawled through the doorway.

"Holy mackerel," he gabbed, picking up a mysterious radio as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Minnie Beversdorf. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Davenport. Her toupee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For the love of Pete. Please have a drink," he shuddered, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Turn blue," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Mali that I met him. I was working as a woodworker. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Lounge. Oh, he seemed paranoid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Freddie Wales. He works at the video arcade on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in acorns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ruiz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an acorn in Mali 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 breathing at the carnival when he struggled in and started to take a bath. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fool that bouncy turkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a whoopee cushion and she wiped her eyes flightily. He noticed her Speedo looked smumpy. "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 back patiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bury my comb if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's a repulsive ladybug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's repulsive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wales?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Mali since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sweetly, "did Mister Wales ever talk about someone named Lucas Nighthawk?

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

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

She looked at him energetically. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Nebraska too long. I hope you can do something about Freddie soon."

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

"I can lurch to Nebraska as soon as I pack a cigar, a cheerleader's uniform, and my radio."

"You'd better take a china doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled gratefully.

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

She rose from her seat and zipped fervently out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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