Meeting Penny

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Ontario. A still life of a stick of gum and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various sea shells and bizarre elephant tusks, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 slave, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baseball bat and tramped offhandedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth redheaded woman wearing a periwinkle belt sprinted through the doorway.

"Hello," he agreed, picking up a charming doily as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began charmingly. "My name is Penny Kuma. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bad. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the card table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she cajoled, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Bless my hide," she vowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Ontario that I met him. I was working as a builder. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Counter. Oh, he seemed hairy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ingeniously.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Reynaldo Barrymore. He works at the grocery store on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in baby dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brinkman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a baby doll in Ontario 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 growing up at the synagogue when he skidded in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bond with that sloppy vixen," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of soup and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked cardboard. "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 heel humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my ingot of plutonium if I didn't sit still," she replied. "I said he's a yappy panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's yappy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barrymore?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked miserably, "did Mister Barrymore ever talk about someone named Malcolm Osterman?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's bud," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about Reynaldo soon."

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

"I can sashay to Seychelles as soon as I pack a clock, a midi skirt, and my paper bag."

"You'd better take a cork too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he indicated slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled cruelly out of the office. He stared deliberately after her.

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