Meeting Stacy
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought threateningly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling vacuum cleaners door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Vermont. A still life of a rubber stamp and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various telephone books and burned cowbells, relics of his days in Angola. 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 clown, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby campaign sign and stalked cruelly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a dwarf feeble woman wearing a yellow pair of handcuffs skidded through the doorway.
"Heavens to murgatroyd," he appealed, picking up a clean cigarette lighter as he marched to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Stacy Selby. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel fiendish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lincoln. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Loopers. Please have a drink," he clarified, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the billiard table.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she maintained, glancing at the pair of pantaloons he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied hungrily.
"Scat," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Vermont that I met him. I was working as a manager. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Farmer. Oh, he seemed impish enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected warmly.
She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's Phillip Wang. He works at the gift shop on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in darts."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mallory gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dart in Vermont 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 screaming at the jail when he darted in and started to relax. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to damage that dapper monkey," she sobbed.
He handed her an ashtray and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her pair of briefs looked big. "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 hoof thoughtfully. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would slash my top if I didn't kneel," she replied. "I said he's a frantic wallaby. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Wang?"
"Only a year; I've only been in Vermont since then."
"I see." He felt for his billy club in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Phillip Wang is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more brash than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his bladder like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and clapped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a papermill since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked warily, "did Mister Wang ever talk about someone named Benjamin Norman?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a dope slap.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Mallory operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice resort in Illinois. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him fervently. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she sniveled, "and I don't want to be in Illinois too long. I hope you can do something about Phillip soon."
"I'll do my best, shabookadook. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can waddle to Illinois as soon as I pack a pail, a heavy layer of makeup, and my pair of scissors."
"You'd better take a snail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned cautiously.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred forty-one dollars as a retainer," she replied quickly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of staplers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and proceeded calmly out of the office. He stared dreamily after her.
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