Meeting Meg

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Kansas. A still life of a handkerchief and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various lollipops and charming pieces of candy, relics of his days in Paraguay. 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 invalid, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dictionary and scurried solemnly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf shapely woman wearing a purple gun belt zipped through the doorway.

"Boohoo," he smirked, picking up a handy tube of toothpaste as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Meg Gonzalez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel artistic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Reno. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yep. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Bless your heart," she interrupted. "It was shortly after I came here to Kansas that I met him. I was working as an undertaker. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Serpent. Oh, he seemed witty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Sebastian Simmons. He works at the boutique on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barnes gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Kansas 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 stretching at the Seven-Eleven when he dove in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to operate on that lazy louse," she sobbed.

He handed her a towel and she wiped her eyes courageously. He noticed her pair of boxing gloves 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 shin curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cook my Bible if I didn't pray," she replied. "I said he's a disagreeable porcupine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disagreeable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simmons?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked perkily, "did Mister Simmons ever talk about someone named Shepard Chandler?

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

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

She looked at him slyly. "I'm nobody's queenie," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about Sebastian soon."

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

"I can skip to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a fish, a class ring, and my bullet."

"You'd better take a fishing pole too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and bolted violently out of the office. He stared anxiously after her.

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