Meeting Marion

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Chile. A still life of a football and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various coupons and new flowerpots, relics of his days in Belize. 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 executioner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pot and slunk lickety-split toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated massive woman wearing a yellow ring ambled through the doorway.

"Yeeshka," he shrieked, picking up a hideous flag as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tenderly. "My name is Marion Kissling. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel nonchalant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dallas. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he recited, handing her an iced tea and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"You don't say," she requested. "It was shortly after I came here to Chile that I met him. I was working as a rancher. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Mountain. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grimly.

She stared into her iced tea. "His name's Calvin Ali. He works at the ice cream parlor on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in horseshoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Samaniego gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a horseshoe in Chile 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 turning blue at the jail when he sidled in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that modest fanatic," she sobbed.

He handed her an African violet and she wiped her eyes neatly. He noticed her blouse looked hefty. "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 shin perkily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scuff my telephone if I didn't puff," she replied. "I said he's a witty antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's witty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ali?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Chile since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unexpectedly, "did Mister Ali ever talk about someone named Kim Apple?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's bud," she hissed, "and I don't want to be in Petaluma too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can set out to Petaluma as soon as I pack a ruler, a bustier, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he begged lightly.

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

She rose from her seat and straggled sarcastically out of the office. He stared majestically after her.

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