Meeting Monica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Mauritania. A still life of a comb and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various footballs and archaic balls, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 sailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and sauntered greedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small dinky woman wearing a scarlet pair of briefs pranced through the doorway.

"Optimum," he explained, picking up a striped bag as he loped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel anemic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Abilene. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yahoo. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her an old fashioned and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Woohoo," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Mauritania that I met him. I was working as an FBI Agent. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Pond. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her old fashioned. "His name's Phil Panzer. He works at the auto repair shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sludge gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Mauritania 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 coming to at the health club when he sauntered in and started to curtsey. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spit at that solitary fink," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag and she wiped her eyes repeatedly. He noticed her pair of false eyelashes looked brittle. "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 hangnail solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would submerse my amulet if I didn't do nothing," she replied. "I said he's a prickly gopher. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prickly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Panzer?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Mauritania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shakily, "did Mister Panzer ever talk about someone named Preston Weston?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Scottsdale too long. I hope you can do something about Phil soon."

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

"I can inch to Scottsdale as soon as I pack a rope, a pair of galoshes, and my peace pipe."

"You'd better take a basketball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sighed furiously.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed blindly out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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