Meeting Maria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Rio. A still life of a plaque and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various canes and striped cell phones, relics of his days in Iraq. 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 butcher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby African violet and careened merrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat short woman wearing a burgundy pair of shorts skipped through the doorway.

"Zzzzz," he concluded, picking up a fabulous picture as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Maria Jacobs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fearful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Alexandria. Her jaw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crackers. Please have a drink," he grieved, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Yipes," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Rio that I met him. I was working as a network administrator. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Plate. Oh, he seemed dismal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sorrowfully.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Otto Woods. He works at the hair salon on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jetson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bottle in Rio 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 belching at the ski resort when he dove in and started to jump. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that fuzzy dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a bagpipe and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her fedora looked narrow. "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 adrenal gland surreptitiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would decontaminate my vacuum cleaner if I didn't wince," she replied. "I said he's a creepy sheep. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's creepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Woods?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Woods ever talk about someone named Doc Bronner?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in the Congo too long. I hope you can do something about Otto soon."

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

"I can traipse to the Congo as soon as I pack a bedpan, a robe, and my pumpkin."

"You'd better take a stick of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he panted gently.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded unnaturally out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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