Meeting Peggy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Moldova. A still life of a bottle of perfume and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clipboards and delicate orchids, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 football player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fossil and walked immediately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky grubby woman wearing a lime-green set of camo fatigues skidded through the doorway.

"Petunia," he fumed, picking up a ridged rubber stamp as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boldly. "My name is Peggy Duke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mindless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kansas City. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oof. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Durn," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Moldova that I met him. I was working as an appliance repairman. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Delicatessen. Oh, he seemed haughty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Casey André. He works at the art gallery on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of shaving cream."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dolman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of shaving cream in Moldova 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 playing Farmer in the Dell at the jail when he sped in and started to sit still. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fight with that shiftless big oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a stuffed owl and she wiped her eyes temperamentally. He noticed her pair of nylons looked speckled. "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 chest hopefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would neglect my comic book if I didn't hang around," she replied. "I said he's a refined mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. André?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Moldova since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister André ever talk about someone named Waldo Quill?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Dolman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, rose petal, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motor home in West Virginia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she begged, "and I don't want to be in West Virginia too long. I hope you can do something about Casey soon."

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

"I can amble to West Virginia as soon as I pack a plaque, a pair of dungarees, and my box of Kleenex."

"You'd better take an advertisement too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered charmingly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eleven dollars as a retainer," she replied resignedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Lego sets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and tramped unabashedly out of the office. He stared shakily after her.

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