Meeting Marla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Poland. A still life of a bottle and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stuffed bunnies and plain buttons, relics of his days in Poland. 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 technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby biscuit and trotted strictly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth tattooed woman wearing a rose parka lurched through the doorway.

"Far out, man," he gabbed, picking up a hard flag as he sped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began deliberately. "My name is Marla Usher. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel muscular. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Minneapolis. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"For heaven's sake," she sputtered. "It was shortly after I came here to Poland that I met him. I was working as a street sweeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed solitary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wearily.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Vance Wibbles. He works at the clothing store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diagrams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Scott gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diagram in Poland 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 vegetating at the gyro shop when he bounced in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that brazen hag," she sobbed.

He handed her a smart phone and she wiped her eyes craftily. He noticed her pair of khakis looked ragged. "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 little finger tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fry my clothespin if I didn't puff," she replied. "I said he's a radiant rattlesnake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's radiant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wibbles?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Poland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Wibbles ever talk about someone named Pinky Seaman?

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

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

She looked at him softly. "I'm nobody's toodleums," she vowed, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Vance soon."

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

"I can slither to Honolulu as soon as I pack a joint, a bustier, and my mushroom."

"You'd better take an automatic rifle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he offered busily.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped suddenly out of the office. He stared resignedly after her.

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