Meeting Melissa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Suriname. A still life of a pair of binoculars and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various napkins and ridiculous flash drives, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pot and scurried nervously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget dainty woman wearing a camouflage bolo tie paraded through the doorway.

"Chirp," he chattered, picking up a mysterious brush as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sharply. "My name is Melissa Booth. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bouncy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Diddly bunk. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a Tom Collins and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"As if," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Suriname that I met him. I was working as an archeologist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Clover. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her Tom Collins. "His name's Armand Rudd. He works at the fortune teller shop on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Deutsch gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clock in Suriname 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 crouching at the supermarket when he scurried in and started to chortle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peck at that unselfish worm," she sobbed.

He handed her a Barbie doll and she wiped her eyes arrogantly. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked handy. "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 claw quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cook my hip flask if I didn't mumble," she replied. "I said he's a dignified rhinoceros. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dignified.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rudd?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister Rudd ever talk about someone named Alistair Snigglefritz?

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

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

She looked at him gently. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Quebec too long. I hope you can do something about Armand soon."

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

"I can scoot to Quebec as soon as I pack a bird feeder, a pair of shin guards, and my pair of headphones."

"You'd better take a fingernail clipper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped arrogantly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied bravely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of footballs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and tore nimbly out of the office. He stared boldly after her.

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