Meeting Michelle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Costa Rica. A still life of a baseball bat and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various calling cards and spongy pots, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 huckster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby thumb drive and marched resignedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf pallid woman wearing a lavender space suit darted through the doorway.

"Oh dear," he trumpeted, picking up a narrow purse as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lazily. "My name is Michelle Looper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salt Lake City. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nice. Please have a drink," he worried, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Hmmm," she spoke up. "It was shortly after I came here to Costa Rica that I met him. I was working as a fisherman. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Restaurant. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Dick Bishop. He works at the ad agency on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rulers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Allen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ruler in Costa Rica 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 curtseying at the bagel shop when he ambled in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cozy up to that maniacal pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing rod and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her winter coat looked greasy. "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 collarbone impatiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my notepad if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's a jaunty iguana. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's jaunty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bishop?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Costa Rica since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Bishop ever talk about someone named Kenneth Grundy?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she lamented, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Dick soon."

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

"I can skip to Belgium as soon as I pack a handkerchief, a kilt, and my chess set."

"You'd better take a spinning wheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired shakily.

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

She rose from her seat and ran narrowly out of the office. He stared sagely after her.

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