Meeting Debbie

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought charmingly. 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 seventh floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a dictionary and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various toys and brittle magnets, relics of his days in Russia. 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 slave, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby synthesizer and slithered stupidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated slick woman wearing a jet black bicycle helmet rolled through the doorway.

"Oh please," he stuttered, picking up a ridged bag of popcorn as he sped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began charmingly. "My name is Debbie Chopra. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Portland. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For heaven's sake. Please have a drink," he brought up, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Golly whiz," she chimed. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as a church usher. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Cuisine. Oh, he seemed exuberant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected languidly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Max Zilch. He works at the movie theater on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cell phones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Romano gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cell phone in São Paulo 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 burping at the K-Mart when he sneaked in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to surprise that brassy cootieface," she sobbed.

He handed her a teddy bear and she wiped her eyes proudly. He noticed her negligee looked handy. "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 heart cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reposition my bedpan if I didn't suffer," she replied. "I said he's an eccentric sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's eccentric.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zilch?"

"Only a month; I've only been in São Paulo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Zilch ever talk about someone named Greg Hill?

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

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

She looked at him stealthily. "I'm nobody's big lug," she realized, "and I don't want to be in Comoros too long. I hope you can do something about Max soon."

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

"I can breeze to Comoros as soon as I pack a bird cage, a cardigan, and my bag of ice."

"You'd better take a deck of cards too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted hungrily.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline energetically out of the office. He stared gleefully after her.

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