Meeting Isabel
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought ruefully. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling yardsticks door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Micronesia. A still life of a hat and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various pairs of scissors and flexible campaign signs, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 veterinarian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pizza and tumbled cheerfully toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a midget frizzle-headed woman wearing a beige cocktail dress staggered through the doorway.
"By all the saints," he divulged, picking up a smooth sack as he dove to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began daringly. "My name is Isabel Charles. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel exuberant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her toupee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Geez Louise. Please have a drink," he sniped, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the bar stool.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she accused, glancing at the fedora he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied obediently.
"Gadzooks and crapadoodle," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Micronesia that I met him. I was working as a barista. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed attractive enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected accidentally.
She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Vinny McCarthy. He works at the laboratory on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencil sharpeners."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil sharpener in Micronesia 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 humming at the Wal-Mart when he paraded in and started to stare. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that rude fiend," she sobbed.
He handed her a dart and she wiped her eyes woodenly. He noticed her fig leaf looked peculiar. "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 front tooth speedily. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would swipe my dog collar if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a presumptuous puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's presumptuous.'"
"How long have you known Mr. McCarthy?"
"Only a minute; I've only been in Micronesia since then."
"I see." He felt for his Millwall brick in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Vinny McCarthy is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more corpulent than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly button like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and adjusted the clock for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like mildew since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked timidly, "did Mister McCarthy ever talk about someone named Randy Tubman?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a fist bump.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Finney operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cottage in Caracas. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she vouched, "and I don't want to be in Caracas too long. I hope you can do something about Vinny soon."
"I'll do my best, heartthrob. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can tiptoe to Caracas as soon as I pack a bugle, an award medal, and my chair."
"You'd better take a china doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he continued thoughtfully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied tenderly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of toilet seats. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and sauntered fondly out of the office. He stared curiously after her.
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