Meeting Ruth
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought later. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling clipboards door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Ohio. A still life of a dart and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various guns and gigantic dollhouses, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 machinist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flower and tore blankly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a gigantic slender woman wearing a metallic red belt dashed through the doorway.
"Righto," he spat, picking up a fabulous ticket as he flew to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began wearily. "My name is Ruth Sahoo. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel evil. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in St. Petersburg. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Voilà. Please have a drink," he boasted, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the bar stool.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she grunted, glancing at the gladiator helmet he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied primly.
"Ay yi yi," she scoffed. "It was shortly after I came here to Ohio that I met him. I was working as a talk-show host. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Harvest. Oh, he seemed suave enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.
She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Mark Cosak. He works at the newsstand on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in protest signs."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Washington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a protest sign in Ohio 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 falling asleep at the health club when he skittered in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that eccentric dorf," she sobbed.
He handed her a yardstick and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her bodysuit looked ancient. "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 femur grimly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would unwrap my grease gun if I didn't show up," she replied. "I said he's a bald salamander. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bald.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Cosak?"
"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Ohio since then."
"I see." He felt for his accordion in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Mark Cosak is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more annoying than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thyroid gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and thought for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a new car since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked truculently, "did Mister Cosak ever talk about someone named Vinny Stephens?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a finger gun.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Washington operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice chapel in Cyprus. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him fondly. "I'm nobody's honey," she called, "and I don't want to be in Cyprus too long. I hope you can do something about Mark soon."
"I'll do my best, teddy bear. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can tear to Cyprus as soon as I pack a thumb drive, a maxi skirt, and my crayon."
"You'd better take a bagpipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whimpered thankfully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied dreamily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of African violets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and swaggered fiercely out of the office. He stared happily after her.
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