Meeting Margaret

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a chamber pot and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various machetes and gigantic African violets, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 yoga instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and marched gruffly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump white woman wearing a scarlet camisole sneaked through the doorway.

"Yeeshka," he stated, picking up an autographed hair brush as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warmly. "My name is Margaret Countryman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel childish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Louisville. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Holy frijole," she cried. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as a horse trainer. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Delight. Oh, he seemed atrocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Nathan Manning. He works at the coffee shop on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGraw gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peach in Kuwait 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 apologizing at the jail when he skittered in and started to bleed. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kick that brash bandicoot," she sobbed.

He handed her a pumpkin and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her pair of flip-flops looked original. "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 adrenal gland sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clamp my chamber pot if I didn't groan," she replied. "I said he's a hungry monkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hungry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Manning?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Kuwait since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nervously, "did Mister Manning ever talk about someone named Julian Lions?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's cutie," she noted, "and I don't want to be in Pueblo too long. I hope you can do something about Nathan soon."

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

"I can swagger to Pueblo as soon as I pack a package, a party hat, and my Frisbee."

"You'd better take a stack of papers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he appealed lamely.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred eighty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied greedily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bats. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and zoomed positively out of the office. He stared smoothly after her.

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