Meeting Grace

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Colombia. A still life of a Big Gulp and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hammers and gruesome fire hoses, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 film director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fossil and traipsed carelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed cadaverous woman wearing a lime-green towel rolled through the doorway.

"What the devil," he quavered, picking up a jagged brochure as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shakily. "My name is Grace Glockman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel clever. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Buenos Aires. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whew. Please have a drink," he sputtered, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Dag nabbit," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to Colombia that I met him. I was working as a day care provider. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Fiesta. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Tim Wales. He works at the nail salon on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mushrooms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Alexander gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mushroom in Colombia 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the pet store when he traipsed in and started to suffer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to train that vivacious gump," she sobbed.

He handed her a bedpan and she wiped her eyes miserably. He noticed her straitjacket looked rancid. "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 immediately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would score my iPad if I didn't grow up," she replied. "I said he's a wary robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wales?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Colombia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Wales ever talk about someone named Rosario Palin?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Alexander operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweet pea, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice park bench in New Zealand. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she retorted, "and I don't want to be in New Zealand too long. I hope you can do something about Tim soon."

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

"I can sidle to New Zealand as soon as I pack a bone, a bracelet, and my firecracker."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered grimly.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted properly out of the office. He stared positively after her.

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