Meeting Megan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Tallahassee. A still life of a mushroom and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tote bags and expensive canes, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 baseball player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blank check and swung glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge haggard woman wearing a teal overcoat struggled through the doorway.

"Wahoo," he appealed, picking up a sophisticated stamp as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lickety-split. "My name is Megan Oggendorf. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel freakish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pish posh. Please have a drink," he yelped, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"I beg your pardon," she blurted. "It was shortly after I came here to Tallahassee that I met him. I was working as a fortune teller. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Hideaway. Oh, he seemed merry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carelessly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Kenny MacDonald. He works at the brewery on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ping-pong paddles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Corialis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ping-pong paddle in Tallahassee 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 vomiting at the rock concert when he sneaked in and started to raise an eyebrow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that solitary scoundrel," she sobbed.

He handed her an ice cream cone and she wiped her eyes glibly. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked narrow. "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 stomach happily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pulverize my cactus plant if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a resolute mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's resolute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacDonald?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Tallahassee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister MacDonald ever talk about someone named Antonio Tinnerman?

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

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

She looked at him fiercely. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she yelped, "and I don't want to be in Virginia too long. I hope you can do something about Kenny soon."

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

"I can saunter to Virginia as soon as I pack a tennis racket, a beanie, and my computer."

"You'd better take a dish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quavered boldly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed slowly out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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