Meeting Virginia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a campaign sign and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bats and miniature hip flasks, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 secretary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pillow and galumphed suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly youthful woman wearing an indigo space suit hobbled through the doorway.

"Crud," he muttered, picking up a broken piece of candy as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suddenly. "My name is Virginia Ping. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel evil. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nooo. Please have a drink," he insisted, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Bless my britches," she bawled. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a football coach. He took me to a restaurant called the Rainbow Home. Oh, he seemed artistic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Rocket Clapper. He works at the pastry shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in napkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schmutzig gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a napkin in Scottsdale 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 turning blue at the carnival when he skittered in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to belittle that bouncy twerp," she sobbed.

He handed her a coffee pot and she wiped her eyes valiantly. He noticed her jacket looked weird. "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 earlobe urgently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cook my purse if I didn't stretch," she replied. "I said he's a powerful boa constrictor. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Clapper?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Scottsdale since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grandly, "did Mister Clapper ever talk about someone named Mel Richter?

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

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

She looked at him madly. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in Washington DC too long. I hope you can do something about Rocket soon."

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

"I can bounce to Washington DC as soon as I pack a dictionary, a negligee, and my comb."

"You'd better take a bird bath too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he repeated strangely.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped mysteriously out of the office. He stared crossly after her.

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