Meeting Marina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Sri Lanka. A still life of a piano and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various clams and plastic footballs, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 janitor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby notepad and traipsed elatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin alert woman wearing a maroon hat waltzed through the doorway.

"Gadzooks," he whined, picking up a shiny saddle as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began brightly. "My name is Marina Worm. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel comely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wichita. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aw. Please have a drink," he analyzed, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Great Scott," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Sri Lanka that I met him. I was working as a distiller. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Den. Oh, he seemed wily enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Terence Withers. He works at the sandwich shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in napkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Elwood gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a napkin in Sri Lanka 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 wiggling at the wine tasting when he galloped in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to aggravate that frightened bugbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a ball and she wiped her eyes again. He noticed her feather boa looked flexible. "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 waist diligently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spin my beach ball if I didn't die," she replied. "I said he's a selfish rat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Withers?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Sri Lanka since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Withers ever talk about someone named Zed Zimmerman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Elwood operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, turtle dove, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice A-frame in Cairo. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cunningly. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about Terence soon."

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

"I can scoot to Cairo as soon as I pack a towel, a denim skirt, and my banana."

"You'd better take a cotton ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored madly.

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

She rose from her seat and tore quickly out of the office. He stared obediently after her.

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