Meeting Ruth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Luxembourg. A still life of a pink flamingo and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various corks and striking teddy bears, relics of his days in Russia. 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 funeral director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spoon and reeled firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy pale woman wearing an olive green blanket sprinted through the doorway.

"Chirp," he exclaimed, picking up a smumpy flute as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel wizened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very funny. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a soda and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Ssss," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Luxembourg that I met him. I was working as an embalmer. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Fork. Oh, he seemed sexy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Patrick Verma. He works at the auto repair shop on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of scissors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ortega gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of scissors in Luxembourg 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 humming at the church when he sashayed in and started to nod off. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hide from that dreadful traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a baby doll and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her pair of cargo pants looked ruined. "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 larynx noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would squash my ice cream cone if I didn't think," she replied. "I said he's a sensible giraffe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sensible.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Verma?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Luxembourg since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fervently, "did Mister Verma ever talk about someone named Wallace Bing?

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

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

She looked at him madly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she instructed, "and I don't want to be in Iowa too long. I hope you can do something about Patrick soon."

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

"I can swing to Iowa as soon as I pack a yo-yo, a rain coat, and my paperclip."

"You'd better take a cork too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he raved grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and bounced properly out of the office. He stared craftily after her.

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