Meeting Norma Jean

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a soccer ball and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various rubber chickens and brittle boxes, 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 woodworker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spider and proceeded gleefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive dapper woman wearing a hot pink black belt lurched through the doorway.

"Yippee," he sputtered, picking up a smumpy rag as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lamely. "My name is Norma Jean Ferrari. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel powerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Capetown. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ka-ching. Please have a drink," he boasted, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Very well done," she mouthed. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a massage therapist. He took me to a restaurant called Western Drive-In. Oh, he seemed lively enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quietly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Kevin McDiggles. He works at the pastry shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cactus plants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pythagoras gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cactus plant in Egypt 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 preaching at the senior citizens center when he sailed in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that statuesque old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather duster and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her wig looked overgrown. "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 innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my chart if I didn't bawl," she replied. "I said he's a somber burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's somber.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDiggles?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gleefully, "did Mister McDiggles ever talk about someone named Walter Evans?

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

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's lover," she guessed, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Kevin soon."

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

"I can rush to Peoria as soon as I pack a pair of fuzzy dice, a jerkin, and my spool of thread."

"You'd better take a bag of ice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped breathlessly out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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