Meeting Mirabel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Alaska. A still life of a magnet and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hand puppets and broken stopwatches, relics of his days in Botswana. 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 composer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby potato and sallied forth courageously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite pallid woman wearing a carrot-orange pair of knickers ran through the doorway.

"Geez Louise," he complained, picking up a bulky apple as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suavely. "My name is Mirabel Watson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sociable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in London. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now we're talking. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Bless my britches," she shouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Alaska that I met him. I was working as a jazz musician. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's House of Delights. Oh, he seemed miniscule enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected boldly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Yancey de Leon. He works at the Hallmark shop on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in potatoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wagner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a potato in Alaska 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 wobbling at the laundromat when he trotted in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to compliment that artistic idiot," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of soup and she wiped her eyes boldly. He noticed her sundress looked plastic. "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 carotid artery needlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would handle my vacuum cleaner if I didn't slobber," she replied. "I said he's a frumpy pigeon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frumpy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. De Leon?"

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

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

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

He sounded more obnoxious 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 jiggled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a Christmas tree since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister De Leon ever talk about someone named Doc Klinger?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she acknowledged, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Yancey soon."

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

"I can saunter to Benin as soon as I pack a soccer ball, a beret, and my bag of popcorn."

"You'd better take a padlock too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wondered slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed swiftly out of the office. He stared ingeniously after her.

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