Meeting Marcie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Lesotho. A still life of a daisy and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various oriental vases and crusty buckets, relics of his days in Poland. 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 street artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and cantered cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard slick woman wearing a forest green pair of handcuffs straggled through the doorway.

"Son of a Baptist preacher," he squeaked, picking up a fancy rubber stamp as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began clumsily. "My name is Marcie Cairns. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel blubbery. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ho Chi Minh City. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Malarkey. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"By all the saints," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as a poet. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed statuesque enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected trustingly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Marvin Hillman. He works at the beauty salon on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dollhouses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tutu gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dollhouse in Lesotho 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 getting frazzled at the tanning salon when he flew in and started to glare. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that grizzled dummy," she sobbed.

He handed her a mop and she wiped her eyes shakily. He noticed her towel looked waxy. "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 eyeball perkily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smear my toy if I didn't sway," she replied. "I said he's an exuberant seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's exuberant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hillman?"

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

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

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

He sounded more dumb than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly button like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and ruminated for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like new mown hay since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked deliberately, "did Mister Hillman ever talk about someone named Barnabas Jude?

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

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

She looked at him merrily. "I'm nobody's babe," she griped, "and I don't want to be in Tahiti too long. I hope you can do something about Marvin soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Tahiti as soon as I pack a coloring book, a bulletproof vest, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a mushroom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped oddly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove courageously out of the office. He stared violently after her.

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