Meeting Eppie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a fishing pole and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bottles and jagged key rings, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby button and whirled properly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby ugly woman wearing a burgundy pair of shoes straggled through the doorway.

"Zowie," he opined, picking up an autographed Frisbee as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Eppie Hyde. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel deadly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in St. Louis. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shiver me timbers. Please have a drink," he prattled, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Praise the Lord," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a mayor. He took me to a restaurant called the White Bowl. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected frantically.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Sam Nyberg. He works at the movie theater on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hair dryers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Thor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hair dryer in Colorado 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 talking at the gyro shop when he slunk in and started to get along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to transform that elderly cretin," she sobbed.

He handed her a spoon and she wiped her eyes bitterly. He noticed her turtleneck looked odd. "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 toe merrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shave my acorn if I didn't get along," she replied. "I said he's an apoplectic wallaby. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's apoplectic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nyberg?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Colorado since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Nyberg ever talk about someone named Bosco Barry?

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

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

She looked at him urgently. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she shouted, "and I don't want to be in Topeka too long. I hope you can do something about Sam soon."

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

"I can struggle to Topeka as soon as I pack a basket, a pair of shoes, and my notebook."

"You'd better take a chair too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled angrily.

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

She rose from her seat and went repeatedly out of the office. He stared threateningly after her.

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