Meeting Molly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a Rubik's cube and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bottles of painkillers and new crates, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 police officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bone and sashayed languidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature slender woman wearing a sea green cat suit tumbled through the doorway.

"Holy buckets," he analyzed, picking up an old vase as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sweetly. "My name is Molly Radcliffe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel comely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cheers. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Bam," she howled. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as a disk jockey. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful Food Truck. Oh, he seemed noble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gratefully.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Tony Berry. He works at the fabric store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bicycles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Simon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bicycle in Long Beach 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 falling asleep at the party when he tiptoed in and started to nod off. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to castigate that artistic goof," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes hysterically. He noticed her sweater looked electronic. "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 hand haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my elephant tusk if I didn't swallow," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal teddy bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Berry?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked mysteriously, "did Mister Berry ever talk about someone named Nils Matthews?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Simon operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, pork chop, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice subway tunnel in Upper Mongolia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him brashly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she chortled, "and I don't want to be in Upper Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Tony soon."

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

"I can slump to Upper Mongolia as soon as I pack a dish, a set of vampire fangs, and my pizza."

"You'd better take a coffee pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed truculently.

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

She rose from her seat and darted sharply out of the office. He stared sorrowfully after her.

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