Meeting Motormouth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Chad. A still life of a bouquet and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Rubik's cubes and disgusting mushrooms, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 gambler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby saddle and galumphed blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky grubby woman wearing an ivory pair of glasses darted through the doorway.

"Bullpuckey," he worried, picking up a wooden dart as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ignobly. "My name is Motormouth Carter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel articulate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mogadishu. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ten-four. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Alley oop," she reacted. "It was shortly after I came here to Chad that I met him. I was working as a flight mechanic. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Shoe. Oh, he seemed sophisticated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected obediently.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Cliff Novak. He works at the music store on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bugles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sokoloff gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bugle in Chad 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 chattering at the Wal-Mart when he slumped in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that perky pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a ping-pong paddle and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her vest looked huge. "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 paw ignobly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my pom-pom if I didn't flush," she replied. "I said he's an anemic grizzly bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Novak?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Chad since then."

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

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

He sounded more thoughtful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thumb like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got dizzy for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like airplane glue since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Novak ever talk about someone named Jason Pope?

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

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

She looked at him shakily. "I'm nobody's dreamboat," she muttered, "and I don't want to be in the Maldives too long. I hope you can do something about Cliff soon."

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

"I can sprint to the Maldives as soon as I pack a brochure, a fez, and my pot."

"You'd better take a candy bar too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted brightly.

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

She rose from her seat and set out rapidly out of the office. He stared tensely after her.

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