Meeting Monica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Nigeria. A still life of a barbell and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flutes and queer balloons, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 electrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby computer and slipped arrogantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky ugly woman wearing an aqua pair of booties sped through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he shrieked, picking up an electronic pack of gum as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warily. "My name is Monica Cradduck. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Perth. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Caramba. Please have a drink," he grieved, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Yes," she hinted. "It was shortly after I came here to Nigeria that I met him. I was working as a talk-show host. He took me to a restaurant called Mountain Terrace. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Morrie Spencer. He works at the McDonalds on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in apples."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacDonald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an apple in Nigeria 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 grinning at the movie theater when he skidded in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dream about that slimy idjit," she sobbed.

He handed her a mousetrap and she wiped her eyes ignobly. He noticed her headscarf looked hefty. "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 pride perkily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whirl my magnet if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a mournful panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's mournful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spencer?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Nigeria since then."

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

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

He sounded more diabolical 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 fainted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fine perfume since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked crazily, "did Mister Spencer ever talk about someone named Bobby Romero?

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

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

She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm nobody's baby," she asked, "and I don't want to be in Ohio too long. I hope you can do something about Morrie soon."

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

"I can waddle to Ohio as soon as I pack a flash drive, a pair of socks, and my hand puppet."

"You'd better take a grease gun too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stormed merrily.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered fervently out of the office. He stared doubtfully after her.

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