Meeting Cindy

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

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

The office was cluttered with various apples and chic boxes, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 kite and scurried unabashedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf olive woman wearing a polka dotted pair of glasses walked through the doorway.

"Ssss," he fantasized, picking up an ancient shoe as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Cindy van Dorn. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Durn. Please have a drink," he conversed, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Bingo," she accused. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a prankster. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Cloud. Oh, he seemed cunning enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Paul Murray. He works at the art gallery on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whistles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finlayson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whistle in Modesto 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 sniffing at the closet when he zipped in and started to snuffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to argue with that cheerful vile viper," she sobbed.

He handed her a mushroom and she wiped her eyes grudgingly. He noticed her pair of panties looked mechanical. "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 big toe humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smash my pair of fuzzy dice if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a frightened pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frightened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Murray?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Modesto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crossly, "did Mister Murray ever talk about someone named Ichabod Ullman?

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

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

She looked at him cautiously. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she sneered, "and I don't want to be in Lima too long. I hope you can do something about Paul soon."

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

"I can scamper to Lima as soon as I pack a bag, a bodysuit, and my bag of popcorn."

"You'd better take a blank check too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniveled fearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked frenetically out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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