Meeting Emmeline

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Petaluma. A still life of a ticket and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paper bags and delicate teapots, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 winemaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather duster and sallied forth angrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short thin woman wearing an aqua pair of panties dashed through the doorway.

"Heavens to murgatroyd," he gasped, picking up an original pail as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began accidentally. "My name is Emmeline Stevens. 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 Huntsville. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Behold. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the windowsill.

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

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

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

"By Jove," she provoked. "It was shortly after I came here to Petaluma that I met him. I was working as a traveling salesman. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown House of Delights. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected majestically.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Steve Escobar. He works at the office supply store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in etchings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kemp gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an etching in Petaluma 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 pausing at the poetry reading when he jumped in and started to daydream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pulverize that stylish pig," she sobbed.

He handed her a yardstick and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her pair of culottes looked rigid. "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 vein courteously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pummel my whistle if I didn't lie around in bed," she replied. "I said he's an intense lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intense.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Escobar?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Petaluma since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Escobar ever talk about someone named Rover Xing?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she admitted, "and I don't want to be in Germany too long. I hope you can do something about Steve soon."

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

"I can dart to Germany as soon as I pack a stapler, a bicycle helmet, and my comic book."

"You'd better take a fossil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he phrased greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and scurried pitifully out of the office. He stared sadly after her.

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