Meeting Debbie

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

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

The office was cluttered with various tote bags and gruesome radios, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 ensign in the Singaporean Army, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sack of potatoes and crept brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small grubby woman wearing a green pair of handcuffs crawled through the doorway.

"Blast," he gabbed, picking up a miniature fishing rod as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Debbie Lister. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cowardly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Davenport. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Like, totally. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the piano.

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

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

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

"Holy smokeroo," she preached. "It was shortly after I came here to the Philippines that I met him. I was working as an organic farmer. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Terrace. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Wendell Nash. He works at the sandwich shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pinwheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Greenside gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pinwheel in the Philippines 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 sitting still at the Seven-Eleven when he hopped in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call the cops on that tired bum," she sobbed.

He handed her a fire hose and she wiped her eyes offhandedly. He noticed her bra looked well worn. "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 leg impatiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pummel my pair of binoculars if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a sketchy goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sketchy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nash?"

"Only a year; I've only been in the Philippines since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hungrily, "did Mister Nash ever talk about someone named Kenneth Nixon?

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

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

She looked at him sweetly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she yelped, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Wendell soon."

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

"I can stride to Honolulu as soon as I pack a pen, a moustache, and my diary."

"You'd better take a paper airplane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled queerly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy-five dollars as a retainer," she replied grandly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of yardsticks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and jogged gleefully out of the office. He stared positively after her.

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