Meeting Mary

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Baton Rouge. A still life of an elephant tusk and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various church keys and sophisticated mushrooms, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 draftsman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby deck of cards and slumped smoothly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated alert woman wearing a grey pair of heels straggled through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he explained, picking up a petite telephone as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Mary Cradduck. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubborn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sacramento. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh. Please have a drink," he tittered, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Puppy biscuits," she squawked. "It was shortly after I came here to Baton Rouge that I met him. I was working as a calligrapher. He took me to a restaurant called Eastern Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed selfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Richard Nussbaum. He works at the electronics store on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in notepads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cutler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a notepad in Baton Rouge 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 lying around in bed at the beach when he sidled in and started to adjust the clock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to amuse that elderly airhead," she sobbed.

He handed her an avocado and she wiped her eyes sympathetically. He noticed her fur coat looked jagged. "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 thyroid gland hopelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rotate my bedpan if I didn't dilly-dally," she replied. "I said he's a high-strung kangaroo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's high-strung.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nussbaum?"

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

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

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

He sounded more somber than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his adrenal gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and showed up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like apple pie since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked automatically, "did Mister Nussbaum ever talk about someone named George Irons?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Cutler operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dear heart, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Spanish colonial in Tallahassee. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him miserably. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she repeated, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Richard soon."

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

"I can jog to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a deck of cards, a polo shirt, and my pepper grinder."

"You'd better take a can of beer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled boldly out of the office. He stared cautiously after her.

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