Meeting Zoe

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Cape Verde. A still life of a bird feeder and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various yardsticks and charming mousetraps, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 church usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper clip and hobbled boldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin sexy woman wearing a scarlet earring capered through the doorway.

"Why," he repeated, picking up a gleaming Happy Meal as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Zoe Dupont. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel loving. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Newark. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eeshk. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Golly whiz," she stuttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Verde that I met him. I was working as a comedian. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Greasy Spoon. Oh, he seemed athletic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Pablo Bower. He works at the coffee shop on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of toothpaste."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brainard gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in Cape Verde 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 puckering at the swimming pool when he straggled in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poison that enthusiastic scalawag," she sobbed.

He handed her a pack of gum and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her beach towel looked weird. "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 wig hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would heat my yo-yo if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's a stern snipe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bower?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Cape Verde since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tensely, "did Mister Bower ever talk about someone named Francisco Woodruff?

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

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

She looked at him trustingly. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Malaysia too long. I hope you can do something about Pablo soon."

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

"I can slip to Malaysia as soon as I pack a coat check ticket, a poodle skirt, and my stone."

"You'd better take a knitting needle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned energetically.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline lovingly out of the office. He stared quickly after her.

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