Meeting Mildred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Suriname. A still life of a teddy bear and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various corsages and speckled pipes, relics of his days in Paraguay. 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 distiller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and sashayed repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky frumpy woman wearing an emerald green beret ambled through the doorway.

"Holy cats," he asserted, picking up a coarse carrot as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began irritably. "My name is Mildred Flash. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Turn blue. Please have a drink," he piped up, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Holy buckets," she burbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Suriname that I met him. I was working as a prosecutor. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Home. Oh, he seemed enraged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected charmingly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Pinky Hamm. He works at the popcorn shop on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in photographs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the LaSalle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a photograph in Suriname 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 suffering at the restaurant when he sallied forth in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kill that choleric wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a spittoon and she wiped her eyes reluctantly. He noticed her gas mask looked ancient. "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 foot violently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dye my bowl if I didn't look angry," she replied. "I said he's a direct cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hamm?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Suriname since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked thoughtfully, "did Mister Hamm ever talk about someone named Beauford West?

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

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

She looked at him vigorously. "I'm nobody's lover," she sputtered, "and I don't want to be in the Maldives too long. I hope you can do something about Pinky soon."

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

"I can trek to the Maldives as soon as I pack a pair of headphones, a gold medal, and my stapler."

"You'd better take a fountain pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped unabashedly.

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

She rose from her seat and marched grudgingly out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

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