Meeting Eppie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Algiers. A still life of a sack and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various diagrams and synthetic corncobs, relics of his days in Bolivia. 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 researcher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby whistle and sidled greedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty sexy woman wearing a carrot-orange cheerleader's uniform slid through the doorway.

"Beats me," he whimpered, picking up a spongy file folder as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cautiously. "My name is Eppie Burke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel jaunty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Denton. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yahoo. Please have a drink," he squealed, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Lord be praised," she fretted. "It was shortly after I came here to Algiers that I met him. I was working as a barrel organ player. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Chopstick. Oh, he seemed suave enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected curiously.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Thomas Popp. He works at the fabric store on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bugles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gonzales gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bugle in Algiers 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 dancing at the spelling bee when he made a beeline in and started to fulminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that brash slug," she sobbed.

He handed her a paperclip and she wiped her eyes valiantly. He noticed her 'I'm with Stupid' shirt looked damp. "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 buttocks menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wrap my sponge if I didn't get dizzy," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Popp?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Algiers since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stupidly, "did Mister Popp ever talk about someone named Jess Geiger?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she answered, "and I don't want to be in Indiana too long. I hope you can do something about Thomas soon."

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

"I can pad to Indiana as soon as I pack a fingernail clipper, a beach towel, and my can of beans."

"You'd better take a peanut too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bawled smoothly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred seventy dollars as a retainer," she replied quietly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of egg shells. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and inched coolly out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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