Meeting Edie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Jersey City. A still life of an Egyptian mummy and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stuffed bunnies and automatic bedpans, relics of his days in the United States. 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 auditor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby balloon and tore strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly pale woman wearing a red cocktail dress marched through the doorway.

"Grody to the max," he jeered, picking up a rancid crayon as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began smoothly. "My name is Edie Peters. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Silence. Please have a drink," he mouthed, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Good golly," she acknowledged. "It was shortly after I came here to Jersey City that I met him. I was working as a race car driver. He took me to a restaurant called Western Pig. Oh, he seemed cute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Perry Collins. He works at the bookstore on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diagrams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diagram in Jersey City 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 waiting at the K-Mart when he went in and started to shrivel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to leave that gargantuan degenerate," she sobbed.

He handed her a rag and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her big smile looked soft. "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 ego offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would recommend my pen if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's a repulsive robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's repulsive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Collins?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Jersey City since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Collins ever talk about someone named Siggy Al-Ghareeb?

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

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

She looked at him automatically. "I'm nobody's precious," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can speed to Madagascar as soon as I pack a firecracker, a flour sack, and my beach ball."

"You'd better take a tube of glue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squeaked patiently.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped sharply out of the office. He stared deftly after her.

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