Meeting Ruth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in New Orleans. A still life of a brush and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coconuts and nice cream puffs, relics of his days in Senegal. 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 rubbish collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clipboard and pranced vacantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic tan woman wearing a brilliant orange derby bounded through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he divulged, picking up a mechanical clam as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pitifully. "My name is Ruth Normal. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel self-assured. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wilmington. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Kaboom. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Pshaw," she instructed. "It was shortly after I came here to New Orleans that I met him. I was working as a computer geek. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Peacock. Oh, he seemed happy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grudgingly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Wesley Walton. He works at the travel agency on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of candy."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Meyer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of candy in New Orleans 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 chewing at the saloon when he skidded in and started to swoon. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that generous imp," she sobbed.

He handed her a church key and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her 'I'm with Stupid' shirt looked nifty. "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 elbow ruefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bend my saw if I didn't fantasize," she replied. "I said he's a menacing zebra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's menacing.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Walton?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in New Orleans since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cheerfully, "did Mister Walton ever talk about someone named Ricky Boudreaux?

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

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

She looked at him tearfully. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she croaked, "and I don't want to be in Egypt too long. I hope you can do something about Wesley soon."

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

"I can bolt to Egypt as soon as I pack a pail, a pair of booties, and my can of sardines."

"You'd better take a pencil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered brightly.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled peevishly out of the office. He stared speedily after her.

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