Meeting Mindy
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought sweetly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling fire hoses door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Botswana. A still life of a brush and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various flutes and hand-carved campaign signs, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 beekeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clock and ambled defiantly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a slender winsome woman wearing an olive green thong reeled through the doorway.
"Shhh," he shrieked, picking up a soft salt shaker as he jogged to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began daringly. "My name is Mindy Trane. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel sketchy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sidney. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Waa. Please have a drink," he spoke up, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the hammock.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she judged, glancing at the pair of culottes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied proudly.
"Brrr," she opined. "It was shortly after I came here to Botswana that I met him. I was working as a cook. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Peacock. Oh, he seemed happy enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected crankily.
She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Drew Spence. He works at the dry cleaner on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in canes."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gunderson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cane in Botswana 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 shivering at the tattoo parlor when he stalked in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to date that tactful bonehead," she sobbed.
He handed her a coupon and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her winter coat looked crooked. "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 Achilles tendon proudly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would shake my rose if I didn't type," she replied. "I said he's a tactful bison. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tactful.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Spence?"
"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Botswana since then."
"I see." He felt for his sword in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Drew Spence is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more creepy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tongue like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and puffed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like greasepaint since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked warily, "did Mister Spence ever talk about someone named Gavin Fischer?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a wrinkled nose.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Gunderson operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice box in Bhutan. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she noted, "and I don't want to be in Bhutan too long. I hope you can do something about Drew soon."
"I'll do my best, mopsy. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can clamber to Bhutan as soon as I pack a campaign sign, a veil, and my artificial flower."
"You'd better take a coffee pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he amended blindly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred seven dollars as a retainer," she replied sharply. I also have an extremely valuable collection of vacuum cleaners. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and stormed shyly out of the office. He stared grandly after her.
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