Meeting Roxanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Cairo. A still life of a cotton ball and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bicycles and frilly crates, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 investment banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of soup and jogged sternly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout sorrowful woman wearing a lime-green pair of earrings sprinted through the doorway.

"Spiff," he jeered, picking up an overgrown handkerchief as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began narrowly. "My name is Roxanne Hill. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel carefree. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Paris. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eek. Please have a drink," he recited, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Neato," she screamed. "It was shortly after I came here to Cairo that I met him. I was working as an Internet celebrity. He took me to a restaurant called Double Bowl. Oh, he seemed lethargic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dreamily.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Horace Mann. He works at the perfumery on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in brushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esposito gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a brush 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 getting away at the senior citizens center when he galloped in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to needle that dowdy blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a beach ball and she wiped her eyes steadily. He noticed her pair of moccasins looked autographed. "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 toe valiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scrape my statue if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's a tactful rattlesnake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tactful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mann?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Cairo 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 Horace Mann is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more self-confident than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his fingernail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and hung around for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smoked fish since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Mann ever talk about someone named Vilmer Bear?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Esposito operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, joy of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice houseboat in Antarctica. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him briskly. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she reminded, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Horace soon."

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

"I can clamber to Antarctica as soon as I pack a doll, a set of braces, and my muffin."

"You'd better take a shovel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he clarified haughtily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied suspiciously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cotton balls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sauntered anxiously out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.

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