Meeting Mandy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Paris. A still life of a cupcake and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various billiard balls and art deco paper bags, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 pilot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird feeder and swaggered courteously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby gorgeous woman wearing a salmon dress swung through the doorway.

"Hello," he giggled, picking up an expensive hot potato as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Mandy Dupont. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rugged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tokyo. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Par bleu. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Yowie," she harangued. "It was shortly after I came here to Paris that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman House. Oh, he seemed friendly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gracefully.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Ethan Zwiebel. He works at the laboratory on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cardboard boxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mondegreen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cardboard box in Paris 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 blanking out at the Elvis chapel when he straggled in and started to cry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to think about that loving snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil and she wiped her eyes sarcastically. He noticed her jerkin looked cheap. "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 wig openly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lick my firecracker if I didn't get upset," she replied. "I said he's a radiant lizard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's radiant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zwiebel?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Paris since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fervently, "did Mister Zwiebel ever talk about someone named Mitch Tinnerman?

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

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

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Ethan soon."

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

"I can amble to the Philippines as soon as I pack a notebook, a big red rose, and my bottle of perfume."

"You'd better take a Barbie doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fumed cruelly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred forty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied urgently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bottles of painkillers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and made a beeline quietly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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