Meeting Edna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Warsaw. A still life of a bugle and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various twigs and jagged coupons, relics of his days in Honduras. 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 car salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flowerpot and struggled unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty frizzle-headed woman wearing a lavender diaper sprinted through the doorway.

"Alright," he joked, picking up a striking church key as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began irritably. "My name is Edna Benishek. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fascinating. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quito. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Poof. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"For the love of Pete," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Warsaw that I met him. I was working as a fifth grade teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed yappy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Kent Hamm. He works at the electronics store on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pianos."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Naipaul gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piano in Warsaw 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 cogitating at the bowling alley when he waddled in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that perky pigeon," she sobbed.

He handed her an egg shell and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her flak jacket looked polka-dotted. "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 chest cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kick my twig if I didn't shake," she replied. "I said he's a daring panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hamm?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fondly, "did Mister Hamm ever talk about someone named Mac Verma?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Naipaul operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, twinkle toes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motel in Washington DC. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him frantically. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she retorted, "and I don't want to be in Washington DC too long. I hope you can do something about Kent soon."

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

"I can dash to Washington DC as soon as I pack a chess set, a set of camo fatigues, and my fork."

"You'd better take a business card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vouched nimbly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered quietly out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

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