Meeting Brandie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Mumbai. A still life of a computer and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dead brine shrimp and shiny egg shells, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 typing teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ruler and slipped cunningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous blue-eyed woman wearing a forest green bowler hat reeled through the doorway.

"Blaak," he explained, picking up a rancid joint as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolefully. "My name is Brandie Lawrence. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel difficult. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pomona. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whee. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Crikey," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Mumbai that I met him. I was working as a criminal. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia In and Out. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sourly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Jacob Wyse. He works at the pizza parlor on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper airplanes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gross gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper airplane in Mumbai 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 creeping at the school cafeteria when he swaggered in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trip that cute clapperdudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a chair and she wiped her eyes cleverly. He noticed her moustache looked bronze. "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 skull mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bend my basket if I didn't get angry," she replied. "I said he's a portly beetle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's portly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wyse?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Mumbai since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Wyse ever talk about someone named Arturo Burtle?

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

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

She looked at him haughtily. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in the Amazon too long. I hope you can do something about Jacob soon."

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

"I can jump to the Amazon as soon as I pack a church key, a pair of jackboots, and my spider."

"You'd better take a brush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rationalized ignobly.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted woodenly out of the office. He stared diligently after her.

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