Meeting Mandy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Namibia. A still life of a mop and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cans of shaving cream and important decks of cards, 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 ditch digger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby nail and zoomed sagely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe small woman wearing a sparkly bathrobe went through the doorway.

"Sacre bleu," he uttered, picking up a stuffed baseball bat as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began violently. "My name is Mandy Trott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel yappy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Poughkeepsie. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Chirp. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Very well done," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Namibia that I met him. I was working as a jockey. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Sea. Oh, he seemed serious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ferociously.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's James Berry. He works at the bookstore on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Bunsen burners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Welles gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Bunsen burner in Namibia 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 playing Duck Duck Goose at the bookstore when he bounded in and started to lounge. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that enchanting dingbat," she sobbed.

He handed her a toothbrush and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her wet suit looked thick. "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 Adam's apple grudgingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lick my bouquet if I didn't laugh," she replied. "I said he's a gregarious mountain goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gregarious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Berry?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Namibia since then."

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

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

He sounded more lanky 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 grumbled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a stagnant pond since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked effortlessly, "did Mister Berry ever talk about someone named Manny Bibbles?

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

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

She looked at him grandly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she smiled, "and I don't want to be in Greece too long. I hope you can do something about James soon."

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

"I can sprint to Greece as soon as I pack a lemon, an overcoat, and my fishhook."

"You'd better take a kite too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he thought tensely.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered merrily out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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