Meeting Maggie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Brasilia. A still life of a stick of gum and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various notebooks and unusual cans of beer, relics of his days in India. 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 draftsman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hat and ambled gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout sexy woman wearing an orange shirt barrelled through the doorway.

"Weird," he debated, picking up a tiny rope as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ferociously. "My name is Maggie Lawrence. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel serious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Memphis. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meow. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Pssst," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Brasilia that I met him. I was working as a rocket scientist. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Castle. Oh, he seemed adorable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Kellen Frank. He works at the photography studio on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in canes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rice gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cane in Brasilia 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 creeping at the senior citizens center when he waltzed in and started to nod. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to love that distressed scullery maid," she sobbed.

He handed her a key and she wiped her eyes fervently. He noticed her motorcycle helmet 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 abdomen quietly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unbutton my toilet seat if I didn't cringe," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery deer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Frank?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stealthily, "did Mister Frank ever talk about someone named Corbin Reyes?

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

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

She looked at him queerly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Cape Town too long. I hope you can do something about Kellen soon."

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

"I can skid to Cape Town as soon as I pack a chess set, a tuxedo, and my soprano saxophone."

"You'd better take a lemon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he railed lightly.

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

She rose from her seat and walked dolorously out of the office. He stared lovingly after her.

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