Meeting Belle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of a deck of cards and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various avocados and abnormal yardsticks, relics of his days in Romania. 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 boat captain, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spoon and crept sympathetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe dinky woman wearing an indigo miniskirt slid through the doorway.

"Beshrew me," he informed, picking up a hard can of beer as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stealthily. "My name is Belle Scoville. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intelligent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Caramba. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Gadzooks," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as a counselor. He took me to a restaurant called Doc's Bison. Oh, he seemed intense enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected primly.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Melvin Dick. He works at the movie theater on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in comic books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Webb gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a comic book in the United Kingdom 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 clearing out at the miniature golf course when he trotted in and started to purr. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that distressed snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a pearl and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her pair of cycling shorts looked small. "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 nose intensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would attack my piece of paper if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a homely caribou. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's homely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dick?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the United Kingdom since then."

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

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

He sounded more calm 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 chortled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like elderberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Dick ever talk about someone named Karl Lions?

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

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

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she railed, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Melvin soon."

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

"I can clamber to Chad as soon as I pack a soldering iron, an Armani suit, and my basketball."

"You'd better take a paper towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he accused surreptitiously.

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

She rose from her seat and strolled gruffly out of the office. He stared madly after her.

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