Meeting Charlene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Sudan. A still life of a soccer ball and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hair dryers and authentic telephones, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 nun, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yo-yo and tiptoed happily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky disheveled woman wearing a green pocket watch strode through the doorway.

"In your dreams," he scoffed, picking up a cotton dollar bill as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Charlene Bobbit. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agitated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tampa. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hmm. Please have a drink," he sniffed, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Heavens to murgatroyd," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Sudan that I met him. I was working as a massage therapist. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed awkward enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Tommy Goldfarb. He works at the nail salon on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bernstein gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnet in Sudan 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 sleeping at the party when he waltzed in and started to fall asleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tickle that desperate madman," she sobbed.

He handed her a joint and she wiped her eyes properly. He noticed her sweater 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 little finger fiercely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would mark my nail if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a pensive ring-tailed lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goldfarb?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Sudan since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked demurely, "did Mister Goldfarb ever talk about someone named Jess Fink?

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

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

She looked at him daintily. "I'm nobody's sugar," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Uruguay too long. I hope you can do something about Tommy soon."

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

"I can lope to Uruguay as soon as I pack a bird cage, a ponytail, and my bag of popcorn."

"You'd better take a bird feeder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded perkily.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed surreptitiously out of the office. He stared irritably after her.

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