Meeting Queenie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Springfield. A still life of a stuffed owl and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various washrags and heavy biscuits, relics of his days in Belize. 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 correctional officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stuffed owl and crept elatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short handsome woman wearing a chocolate brown pair of Oxfords slithered through the doorway.

"Harrumph," he cajoled, picking up an electronic air compressor as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stupidly. "My name is Queenie Castro. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fairbanks. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Outstanding. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Fiddlesticks," she insisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Springfield that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called Eastern Magic. Oh, he seemed pensive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wryly.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Clyde Kilroy. He works at the shoe store on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in saws."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Perry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a saw in Springfield 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 rocking at the health food store when he sprinted in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that cunning bumpkin," she sobbed.

He handed her a clothespin and she wiped her eyes suddenly. He noticed her sombrero looked flexible. "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 heel briskly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would switch my pail if I didn't clap," she replied. "I said he's an atrocious panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's atrocious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kilroy?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Springfield since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Kilroy ever talk about someone named Russ Morrison?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she wailed, "and I don't want to be in Slovakia too long. I hope you can do something about Clyde soon."

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

"I can go to Slovakia as soon as I pack a muffin, a bicycle helmet, and my accordion."

"You'd better take a bugle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed brashly.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered neatly out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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