Meeting Rosa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Bhutan. A still life of a compass and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various brooms and art deco clocks, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 professional dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby map and straggled immediately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe athletic woman wearing a navy blue ring slipped through the doorway.

"@#%#^@%$@!," he reminded, picking up a prickly picture as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suavely. "My name is Rosa Wall. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel maniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh almighty. Please have a drink," he babbled, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Hey," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Bhutan that I met him. I was working as a criminal. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Noah Holland. He works at the office supply store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper clips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cantada gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper clip in Bhutan 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 typing at the movie theater when he sidled in and started to flinch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kiss that talkative lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a cane and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her diamond bracelet looked expensive. "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 pinky again. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refine my mousetrap if I didn't fall asleep," she replied. "I said he's a solitary hog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's solitary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Holland?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked automatically, "did Mister Holland ever talk about someone named Grover Rudnick?

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

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

She looked at him stupidly. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she spouted, "and I don't want to be in Casablanca too long. I hope you can do something about Noah soon."

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

"I can dash to Casablanca as soon as I pack a battery, a toga, and my fish bowl."

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

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

She rose from her seat and reeled urgently out of the office. He stared quickly after her.

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