Meeting Bethany

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Antarctica. A still life of a gun and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cream puffs and hard roses, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 tutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pumpkin and pranced narrowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic feeble woman wearing a scarlet pair of shorts careened through the doorway.

"Nope," he reacted, picking up a decrepit stuffed bunny as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Bethany Danielson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cocky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Podunk Hollow. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eureka. Please have a drink," he winked, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Now we're talking," she admitted. "It was shortly after I came here to Antarctica that I met him. I was working as a gravedigger. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Emperor. Oh, he seemed melancholic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Rumpelstiltskin Sandman. He works at the fortune teller shop on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in elephant tusks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sinclair gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an elephant tusk in Antarctica 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 playing solitaire at the laundromat when he bolted in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to play with that bubbly fool," she sobbed.

He handed her a water bottle and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her party hat looked fabulous. "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 dignity breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hoist my stack of papers if I didn't jerk," she replied. "I said he's a paranoid muskrat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's paranoid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sandman?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Antarctica since then."

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

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

He sounded more self-assured 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 itched for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Yves Saint Laurent since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked offhandedly, "did Mister Sandman ever talk about someone named Vinny Wales?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him dreamily. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she purred, "and I don't want to be in Cuba too long. I hope you can do something about Rumpelstiltskin soon."

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

"I can lumber to Cuba as soon as I pack a piggy bank, a beard, and my stuffed bunny."

"You'd better take a necklace too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spouted sadly.

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

She rose from her seat and leapt narrowly out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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