Meeting Megan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Belize. A still life of a Bunsen burner and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various telephones and fancy yo-yos, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 housekeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pinwheel and waddled stupidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout hairy woman wearing an indigo sundress inched through the doorway.

"Pssst," he appealed, picking up a big bagpipe as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearfully. "My name is Megan Sibley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel selfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arlington. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Unbelievable," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Belize that I met him. I was working as a shopkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Emporium. Oh, he seemed cuddly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's JD Gomez. He works at the opera house on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes of Kleenex."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gutierrez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box of Kleenex in Belize 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 partying at the pool hall when he jumped in and started to screech. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to see that poised bumpkin," she sobbed.

He handed her a skull and she wiped her eyes perkily. He noticed her coonskin hat looked gooey. "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 ego breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my calculator if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's a high-strung gopher. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's high-strung.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gomez?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Belize since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked trustingly, "did Mister Gomez ever talk about someone named Simeon Schmidt?

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

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

She looked at him speedily. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she gasped, "and I don't want to be in Trenton too long. I hope you can do something about JD soon."

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

"I can dive to Trenton as soon as I pack a photograph, a scarf, and my box of candy."

"You'd better take a pepper grinder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he added glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered softly out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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