Meeting Violet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Cairo. A still life of a doily and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various maps and grubby fishing rods, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 student, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby balloon and skittered timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge scraggly woman wearing an amber pair of heels sailed through the doorway.

"Hot dog," he alleged, picking up a fuzzy hat as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warily. "My name is Violet Sledge. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel adorable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charleston. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sacre bleu. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Yippee," she blustered. "It was shortly after I came here to Cairo that I met him. I was working as an editor. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Lounge. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected effortlessly.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Darin Bartholomew. He works at the storage unit on 35th 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 Lange gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of soup in Cairo 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 puffing at the laundromat when he traipsed in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that sinister nitwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes confidently. He noticed her cardigan looked polished. "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 palm madly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lengthen my primrose if I didn't wince," she replied. "I said he's a heavyset hyena. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's heavyset.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bartholomew?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Cairo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nonchalantly, "did Mister Bartholomew ever talk about someone named Victor André?

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

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

She looked at him dolefully. "I'm nobody's bunny," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Vanatu too long. I hope you can do something about Darin soon."

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

"I can march to Vanatu as soon as I pack a map, a belt, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a pumpkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hinted nicely.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled pitifully out of the office. He stared coldly after her.

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