Meeting Mindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Fort Wayne. A still life of a stamp and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of binoculars and slimy crackers, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 radiologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby floppy disk and climbed unabashedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat pallid woman wearing a jet black fig leaf tumbled through the doorway.

"Nooo," he begged, picking up a polished baseball as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Mindy Sewell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crafty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in El Paso. Her throat made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Golly. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"For the love of Pete," she declared. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Wayne that I met him. I was working as a peanut vendor. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Kitchen. Oh, he seemed pensive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected roughly.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Rex Newman. He works at the fabric store on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Seymour gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Fort Wayne 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 cheering at the Elvis chapel when he dashed in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that enchanting cheater," she sobbed.

He handed her a saddle and she wiped her eyes innocently. He noticed her motorcycle helmet looked hollow. "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 tooth lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would poke my bag of ice if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's an emotional Guinea pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's emotional.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Newman?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Fort Wayne since then."

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

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

He sounded more carefree than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his midriff like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and shook 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 suspiciously, "did Mister Newman ever talk about someone named Ira Shepard?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in the United States too long. I hope you can do something about Rex soon."

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

"I can lumber to the United States as soon as I pack an ice cream cone, a flak jacket, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a peanut too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he drawled happily.

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

She rose from her seat and set out angrily out of the office. He stared tensely after her.

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