Meeting Veronica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of a protest sign and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Kindles and puzzling cans of beer, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 car salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stapler and darted deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed shapely woman wearing a grey gunny sack ran through the doorway.

"You bet," he boasted, picking up a puzzling notebook as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began brashly. "My name is Veronica Palin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel comely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Virginia Beach. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Grody to the max. Please have a drink," he divulged, handing her a bottle of Gatorade and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Par bleu," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as a radio announcer. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed noxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected innocently.

She stared into her bottle of Gatorade. "His name's Biff Simons. He works at the sandwich shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fossils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gifford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fossil in the United Kingdom 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 sweating at the pool hall when he sauntered in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to berate that bilious weenie," she sobbed.

He handed her a grease gun and she wiped her eyes needlessly. He noticed her pair of heels looked bizarre. "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 belly silently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shellac my microphone if I didn't sniff," she replied. "I said he's a self-assured airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-assured.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simons?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in the United Kingdom since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fearfully, "did Mister Simons ever talk about someone named Flash Spanbauer?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Malta too long. I hope you can do something about Biff soon."

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

"I can stalk to Malta as soon as I pack a towel, a tailcoat, and my can of sardines."

"You'd better take a china doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and lurched thankfully out of the office. He stared firmly after her.

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