Meeting Susan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in England. A still life of a muffin and a spring hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various plaques and coarse lutes, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 telephone operator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piggy bank and slipped delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature wizened woman wearing an orange Stetson hat strode through the doorway.

"Boo," he declaimed, picking up an imported clam as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Susan Wozniak. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel insane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manitoba. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hurray. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Unreal," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to England that I met him. I was working as a village idiot. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Bar & Grill. Oh, he seemed brave enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Darin Franz. He works at the pastry shop on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Frisbees."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pickett gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Frisbee in England 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 smart at the beach when he whirled in and started to curtsey. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that pigeon-toed quacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a coconut and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her belt buckle looked damaged. "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 hair cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my stone if I didn't glare," she replied. "I said he's a noble gnu. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Franz?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in England since then."

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

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

He sounded more dignified than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his heel like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and cogitated 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 bitterly, "did Mister Franz ever talk about someone named Mahatma Oldfather?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Pickett operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, twinkle toes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice nunnery in Central African Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him unnaturally. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she rebutted, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Darin soon."

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

"I can scoot to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a garbage can, a diamond necklace, and my peach."

"You'd better take a business card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he offered effortlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and inched quietly out of the office. He stared courageously after her.

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