Meeting Bev

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of a box of Kleenex and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various snails and heavy doilies, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 stable boy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sea shell and flew repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout spindly woman wearing a beige scarf straggled through the doorway.

"Far out," he reacted, picking up an ancient stuffed kitten as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began timidly. "My name is Bev Childs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gargantuan. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Richmond. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she responded. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as a church usher. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Grill. Oh, he seemed furious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crossly.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Alexander Wall. He works at the brewery on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flutes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dalton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flute 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 leering at the poetry reading when he breezed in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that timid sneak," she sobbed.

He handed her a whoopee cushion and she wiped her eyes cunningly. He noticed her hood looked original. "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 pride sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swipe my notebook if I didn't adjust the clock," she replied. "I said he's a proud wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's proud.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wall?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked breathlessly, "did Mister Wall ever talk about someone named Frankie Barcelo?

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

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

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's toots," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Slovakia too long. I hope you can do something about Alexander soon."

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

"I can prance to Slovakia as soon as I pack a can of soup, a set of vampire fangs, and my bottle of painkillers."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled dolorously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred ninety-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied jokingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bags of potato chips. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sauntered majestically out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

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