Meeting Lizzie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in St. Petersburg. A still life of an abacus and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various watering cans and gleaming doilies, relics of his days in Panama. 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 colonel, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stopwatch and walked mysteriously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature dashing woman wearing a turquoise pair of jackboots sallied forth through the doorway.

"Isht," he preached, picking up a new feather duster as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sadly. "My name is Lizzie Rand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arlington. Her stomach made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sure. Please have a drink," he repeated, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Moo," she screamed. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Petersburg that I met him. I was working as an executioner. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Steak & Suds. Oh, he seemed sexy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Gabe Agnew. He works at the drug store on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in file folders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ward gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a file folder in St. Petersburg 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 chortling at the Seven-Eleven when he waddled in and started to take a bath. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to draw strength from that depraved peabrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pinwheel and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her black belt looked fancy. "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 esophagus gently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my backpack if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a cunning rattlesnake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cunning.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Agnew?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in St. Petersburg since then."

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

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

He sounded more hirsute than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his rib like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and screeched 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 shakily, "did Mister Agnew ever talk about someone named Morrie Turner?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's punkin," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Mauritius too long. I hope you can do something about Gabe soon."

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

"I can slip to Mauritius as soon as I pack a shoe, a pacifier, and my brush."

"You'd better take a billfold too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sobbed coldly.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped steadily out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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