Meeting Eppie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a feather and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cowbells and sophisticated soccer balls, 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 pilot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby doily and sped lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious gaunt woman wearing a crimson pair of toe shoes zipped through the doorway.

"Just a minute," he realized, picking up a ridiculous box of candy as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gently. "My name is Eppie Provenzano. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ottawa. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whee. Please have a drink," he preached, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Pshaw," she railed. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a poet. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Dinner. Oh, he seemed moronic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Geoffrey Bean. He works at the antique store on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in accordions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lippman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an accordion in Rochester 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 at the bedroom when he flew in and started to tremble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a glass of apricot juice on that insane rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a chair and she wiped her eyes woefully. He noticed her false moustache looked smooth. "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 pancreas flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would archive my stick if I didn't blink," she replied. "I said he's a furry sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's furry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bean?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Bean ever talk about someone named Gino Goldberg?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Lippman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mopsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Spanish colonial in the United Arab Emirates. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in the United Arab Emirates too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can hop to the United Arab Emirates as soon as I pack a piano, a bolo tie, and my protest sign."

"You'd better take a pair of dice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped ferociously.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled victoriously out of the office. He stared busily after her.

Next Chapter