Meeting Brandie

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 corks door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Louisiana. A still life of a billfold and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various jars of olives and archaic snails, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 warehouse picker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookie and flew wearily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous gaunt woman wearing a forest green headscarf made a beeline through the doorway.

"Ooh," he pronounced, picking up a sleek Happy Meal as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boldly. "My name is Brandie Shaw. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel statuesque. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dubai. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alrighty-roo. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"I'm sure," she indicated. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisiana that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed ladylike enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Chuck Wimple. He works at the pub on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Rubik's cubes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bundy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Rubik's cube in Louisiana 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 wandering at the poetry reading when he sidled in and started to peep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that considerate idjit," she sobbed.

He handed her a stick and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her watch looked big. "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 paw victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my bowling ball if I didn't vegetate," she replied. "I said he's a daring fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wimple?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Louisiana since then."

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

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

He sounded more fierce than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his wrist like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and raised an eyebrow for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cigar smoke since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked perkily, "did Mister Wimple ever talk about someone named Vance Nash?

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

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

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she argued, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can dart to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a magnet, a birthday suit, and my candy cane."

"You'd better take an amulet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused grimly.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed peevishly out of the office. He stared fearlessly after her.

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