Meeting Rosemary

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a chess set and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coins and hand-painted staplers, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 beekeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Lego set and skidded miserably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous spindly woman wearing a turquoise pair of pantaloons traipsed through the doorway.

"Dubious," he reacted, picking up a queer bag of groceries as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began numbly. "My name is Rosemary Sorensen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Green Bay. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wild. Please have a drink," he yawned, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Ho ho," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as a huckster. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Cafe. Oh, he seemed absent-minded enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nicely.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Rip Marino. He works at the art gallery on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barbee gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil in Kuwait 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 raising an eyebrow at the pet store when he crawled in and started to fulminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that wicked birdbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a flashlight and she wiped her eyes cleverly. He noticed her black armband looked queer. "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 pancreas victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would admire my tube of toothpaste if I didn't cogitate," she replied. "I said he's an enthusiastic tsetse fly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enthusiastic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marino?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked surreptitiously, "did Mister Marino ever talk about someone named Del Matthews?

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

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

She looked at him caustically. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she yammered, "and I don't want to be in Singapore too long. I hope you can do something about Rip soon."

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

"I can jog to Singapore as soon as I pack a stuffed kitten, a bedsheet, and my piano."

"You'd better take a cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he preached needlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred sixty dollars as a retainer," she replied primly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of flowers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled gratefully out of the office. He stared confidently after her.

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