Meeting Hildegarde

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Modesto. A still life of a coloring book and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various boxes and curved garbage cans, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 kindergarten teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby air compressor and sprinted tenderly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed smallish woman wearing an amber vest proceeded through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he babbled, picking up a crusty flashlight as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began thoughtfully. "My name is Hildegarde Bagman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel contented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Good gravy. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a soda and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Deranged," she sniffed. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a dog catcher. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Wok. Oh, he seemed beautiful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Noah Moreland. He works at the mortuary on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in snails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Allen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a snail in Modesto 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 getting along at the orchestra concert when he slithered in and started to flush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a cambric tea on that sober barbarian," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather duster and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her beehive looked narrow. "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 back breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my bag of ice if I didn't cough," she replied. "I said he's a petulant lion. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's petulant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Moreland?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Modesto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked languidly, "did Mister Moreland ever talk about someone named Martin Bowe?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Allen operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-babe, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motor home in Seoul. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him merrily. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she snorted, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Noah soon."

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

"I can galumph to Seoul as soon as I pack a mousetrap, a towel, and my coin."

"You'd better take a barbell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he requested gleefully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred sixty-one dollars as a retainer," she replied pitifully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pairs of dice. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled sharply out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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