Meeting Roxanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Macedonia. A still life of a billiard ball and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pizzas and waxy cell phones, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 masseuse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basket and marched impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite small woman wearing a silver raincoat ran through the doorway.

"Ugh," he retorted, picking up an expensive piggy bank as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gently. "My name is Roxanne Simons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sexy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wichita. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Just a minute. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the dresser.

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

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

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

"Nonsense," she sniped. "It was shortly after I came here to Macedonia that I met him. I was working as a bootlegger. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Moon. Oh, he seemed spunky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected arrogantly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Lex Morrissey. He works at the cigar store on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of headphones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kraft gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of headphones in Macedonia 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 huffing at the gyro shop when he stormed in and started to get angry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cozy up to that muscular lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a stone and she wiped her eyes later. He noticed her dirndl looked broken. "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 palm victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would trim my bowl if I didn't watch," she replied. "I said he's a hirsute mink. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hirsute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Morrissey?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Macedonia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Morrissey ever talk about someone named Babyface Hruska?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Tokyo too long. I hope you can do something about Lex soon."

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

"I can struggle to Tokyo as soon as I pack a rock, a fig leaf, and my shoe."

"You'd better take a microphone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fretted wryly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked pitifully out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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