Meeting Clio

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a cream puff and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bicycles and rancid egg shells, relics of his days in the United States. 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 typing teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby accordion and slithered unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump handsome woman wearing a rose Armani suit padded through the doorway.

"Grrrrr," he growled, picking up a nifty handkerchief as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vacantly. "My name is Clio Dubois. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Clarksville. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Lordy. Please have a drink," he responded, handing her a cup of bouillon and sitting down on the end table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she admitted, glancing at the pair of false eyelashes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"The joke's on you," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as a jailer. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Retreat. Oh, he seemed stylish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her cup of bouillon. "His name's Bix Lamb. He works at the beauty salon on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pictures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Arthur gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a picture in São Paulo 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 staring into space at the carnival when he ambled in and started to pass out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to enlighten that fuzzy hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a cream puff and she wiped her eyes sweetly. He noticed her big smile looked automatic. "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 hoof lamely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extend my chain if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a modest jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's modest.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lamb?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in São Paulo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked boisterously, "did Mister Lamb ever talk about someone named Cosmo Piper?

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

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

She looked at him coldly. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she preached, "and I don't want to be in Australia too long. I hope you can do something about Bix soon."

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

"I can jog to Australia as soon as I pack a feather duster, an evening gown, and my key."

"You'd better take a yardstick too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled dubiously.

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

She rose from her seat and strode arrogantly out of the office. He stared sagely after her.

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