Meeting Ruth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Vatican City. A still life of a helmet and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various feather dusters and fancy rubber stamps, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 nanny, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and scooted reluctantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky plain woman wearing a salmon pair of false eyelashes traipsed through the doorway.

"Aaack," he admitted, picking up a ridged comb as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Ruth Pythagoras. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Anaheim. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dum de dum dum. Please have a drink," he asked, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Aaah," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Vatican City that I met him. I was working as a DoorDash driver. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Wok. Oh, he seemed sleepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Broderick Okara. He works at the bank on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pinwheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hartford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pinwheel in Vatican 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 whistling at the bagel shop when he rolled in and started to slobber. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cuddle that insane clapperdudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her parka looked woven. "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 throat coolly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whip my clam if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's a lethargic tsetse fly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lethargic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Okara?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Okara ever talk about someone named Gabriel Jacobsen?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's pumpkin," she offered, "and I don't want to be in Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Broderick soon."

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

"I can gallop to Mongolia as soon as I pack an advertisement, a Hawaiian shirt, and my peach."

"You'd better take a can of beer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he debated tensely.

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

She rose from her seat and strode demurely out of the office. He stared trustingly after her.

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