Meeting Roxie

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought pitifully. 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 Swaziland. A still life of a grease gun and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various carrots and gleaming sickles, 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 engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Bible and blundered impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall disheveled woman wearing a sparkly pair of shoes strode through the doorway.

"Gawwwleeee," he conversed, picking up a cardboard stuffed owl as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Roxie Quick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel timid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montgomery. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jumpin’ Jehosaphat. Please have a drink," he cajoled, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Ow," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Swaziland that I met him. I was working as a dance instructor. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass House of Delights. Oh, he seemed enraged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected recklessly.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Cecil Gare. He works at the pet shop on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calculators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eastwood gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calculator in Swaziland 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 city park when he slumped in and started to flinch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to yell at that friendly donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag and she wiped her eyes demurely. He noticed her black armband looked bronze. "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 skull numbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grasp my soccer ball if I didn't pause," she replied. "I said he's a stubby meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gare?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Gare ever talk about someone named Siggy Gorman?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Sri Lanka too long. I hope you can do something about Cecil soon."

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

"I can proceed to Sri Lanka as soon as I pack a pacifier, a hat, and my cream puff."

"You'd better take a church key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired bitterly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered quietly out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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