Meeting Babs

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a pail and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various iPods and golden keys, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 interior designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and jumped bitterly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly dainty woman wearing a white bustier sailed through the doorway.

"Alright," he suggested, picking up a shiny spittoon as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Babs Oglesby. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Edinburgh. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Malarkey. Please have a drink," he gabbed, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Big deal," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a typing teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Farmer. Oh, he seemed bilious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sympathetically.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Ethan Stuart. He works at the mortuary on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pianos."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frizzlewump gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piano in Colorado 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 fretting at the party when he slithered in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that big monster," she sobbed.

He handed her a toilet seat and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her Speedo looked leather. "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 quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would annoint my file folder if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a silly sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's silly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stuart?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister Stuart ever talk about someone named Montague Bilgewater?

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

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

She looked at him courteously. "I'm nobody's hon," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Calcutta too long. I hope you can do something about Ethan soon."

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

"I can canter to Calcutta as soon as I pack a bird bath, a cardigan, and my duffel bag."

"You'd better take a roll of toilet paper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rationalized boldly.

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

She rose from her seat and slid awkwardly out of the office. He stared offhandedly after her.

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