Meeting Queenie

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

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

The office was adorned with various crayons and striking forks, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 innkeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookie and scooted urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge fair woman wearing a terra cotta toga struggled through the doorway.

"Beats me," he burbled, picking up an old purse as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began reluctantly. "My name is Queenie Locke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel considerate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Peking. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Unreal. Please have a drink," he conversed, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Ssss," she accused. "It was shortly after I came here to Malawi that I met him. I was working as a cobbler. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Chophouse. Oh, he seemed rude enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ingeniously.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Rico Boudreaux. He works at the hair salon on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in orchids."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Martin gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an orchid in Malawi 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 stepping aside at the party when he clambered in and started to chant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to enlighten that zany pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her pair of galoshes looked aromatic. "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 big toe automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pulverize my remote control if I didn't watch," she replied. "I said he's a cruel oyster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cruel.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Boudreaux?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Malawi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked strangely, "did Mister Boudreaux ever talk about someone named Jason Case?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she hollered, "and I don't want to be in Zambia too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."

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

"I can reel to Zambia as soon as I pack a plaque, a pair of safety glasses, and my diagram."

"You'd better take a bone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and went oddly out of the office. He stared primly after her.

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