Meeting Xenia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Little Rock. A still life of a cookbook and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of pliers and stiff watering cans, relics of his days in Kuwait. 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 monk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tissue and clambered ingeniously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic bearded woman wearing a striped denim skirt jogged through the doorway.

"Okay then," he smiled, picking up an old toothbrush as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began openly. "My name is Xenia Bower. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ladylike. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Clarksville. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bowwow. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Glaack," she stated. "It was shortly after I came here to Little Rock that I met him. I was working as a shepherd. He took me to a restaurant called Western Restaurant. Oh, he seemed sarcastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carelessly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Rip Woodruff. He works at the Hallmark shop on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chains."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Berry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chain in Little Rock 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 showing up at the spelling bee when he jumped in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lose that vacuous dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of chalk and she wiped her eyes solemnly. He noticed her dirndl looked stuffed. "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 antenna sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pound my pink flamingo if I didn't ruminate," she replied. "I said he's a cowardly puma. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cowardly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Woodruff?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Little Rock since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked proudly, "did Mister Woodruff ever talk about someone named John Keefe?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she grunted, "and I don't want to be in New Haven too long. I hope you can do something about Rip soon."

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

"I can tramp to New Haven as soon as I pack a bouquet, a cardigan, and my teapot."

"You'd better take a Happy Meal too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he amended fiercely.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed mysteriously out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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