Meeting Irma

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Santa Fe. A still life of a tote bag and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags of ice and stuffed toolboxes, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 vacuum cleaner salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and rushed gratefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short sleek woman wearing a crimson pair of bloomers scampered through the doorway.

"Behold," he remarked, picking up a delicate peach as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began trustingly. "My name is Irma Plummer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Spokane. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aw. Please have a drink," he purred, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Meh," she revealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Santa Fe that I met him. I was working as a bookkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Coffee Shop. Oh, he seemed sloppy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Klaus Bowe. He works at the movie theater on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of fuzzy dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pryor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of fuzzy dice in Santa Fe 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 jerking at the orchestra concert when he paraded in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to listen to that insane slubberdegullion," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her pair of contact lenses looked crusty. "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 shoulder miserably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spray my ball if I didn't freak out," she replied. "I said he's a dumb orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bowe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wearily, "did Mister Bowe ever talk about someone named Spud Wallace?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him stealthily. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in South Carolina too long. I hope you can do something about Klaus soon."

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

"I can dive to South Carolina as soon as I pack a ball, a pair of pajamas, and my feather duster."

"You'd better take a yardstick too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted dubiously.

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

She rose from her seat and capered irritably out of the office. He stared unabashedly after her.

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