Meeting Rhoda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Chad. A still life of a trash can and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bird feeders and puzzling pairs of fuzzy dice, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 gopher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bottle of painkillers and lurched narrowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget roly-poly woman wearing a jade Eton jacket inched through the doorway.

"Suffering sassafras," he uttered, picking up a delicate apple as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lickety-split. "My name is Rhoda Sharpe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yay. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"LOL," she smiled. "It was shortly after I came here to Chad that I met him. I was working as a stagehand. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Inn. Oh, he seemed evil enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cautiously.

She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Eduardo Bates. He works at the pastry shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of glue."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Murphy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of glue in Chad 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 wandering at the spelling bee when he skidded in and started to applaud. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that polite pook," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes elatedly. He noticed her bodysuit looked crusty. "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 hip crossly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would get my button if I didn't stand by," she replied. "I said he's a relaxed mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's relaxed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bates?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Chad since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked briskly, "did Mister Bates ever talk about someone named Damien Bede?

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

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

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Comoros too long. I hope you can do something about Eduardo soon."

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

"I can speed to Comoros as soon as I pack a calculator, a business suit, and my backpack."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped perkily.

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

She rose from her seat and crept curiously out of the office. He stared narrowly after her.

Next Chapter