Meeting Monica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Charlotte. A still life of a clipboard and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pens and hefty spittoons, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 costume designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby grease gun and walked unexpectedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite albino woman wearing a brown pair of booties slumped through the doorway.

"Ha-ha," he requested, picking up a polished picture as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearlessly. "My name is Monica Looper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel relaxed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy smokes. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Waa," she roared. "It was shortly after I came here to Charlotte that I met him. I was working as an FBI Agent. He took me to a restaurant called Lee's Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected proudly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Rocket Cox. He works at the novelty shop on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of soup."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGraw gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of soup in Charlotte 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 itching at the bowling alley when he rushed in and started to relax. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to giggle at that frightened lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a pizza and she wiped her eyes demurely. He noticed her gladiator helmet looked slimy. "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 belly slowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shellac my hubcap if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's a quiet eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cox?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Charlotte since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked vigorously, "did Mister Cox ever talk about someone named Jamie Esposito?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the McGraw operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, little cherry blossom, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice A-frame in Yakima. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she said, "and I don't want to be in Yakima too long. I hope you can do something about Rocket soon."

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

"I can run to Yakima as soon as I pack a pencil, a denim skirt, and my can of shaving cream."

"You'd better take a bucket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered lazily.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped furiously out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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