Meeting Leslie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the United Arab Emirates. A still life of a cookie and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pacifiers and bronze darts, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 tax collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chess set and paraded languidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall bedraggled woman wearing a rose watch capered through the doorway.

"Tailfeathers," he blathered, picking up a narrow helmet as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began merrily. "My name is Leslie Zmarzly. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel forgetful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belfast. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Petunia. Please have a drink," he spewed, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Omigosh," she railed. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Arab Emirates that I met him. I was working as a criminal. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Deli. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected excitedly.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Beelzebub Pythagoras. He works at the fortune teller shop on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in apples."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kuta gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an apple in the United Arab Emirates 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 gesticulating at the mosque when he padded in and started to pass out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that timid rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of potato chips and she wiped her eyes impatiently. He noticed her sport coat looked peculiar. "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 daintily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my chair if I didn't belch," she replied. "I said he's an energetic louse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's energetic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pythagoras?"

"Only a century; I've only been in the United Arab Emirates since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked kindly, "did Mister Pythagoras ever talk about someone named Zachary Flake?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Kuta operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey bunch, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice geodesic dome in Calcutta. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him strangely. "I'm nobody's honey bunch," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in Calcutta too long. I hope you can do something about Beelzebub soon."

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

"I can lurch to Calcutta as soon as I pack a yardstick, a gas mask, and my file folder."

"You'd better take a clipboard too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and darted softly out of the office. He stared ferociously after her.

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