Meeting Bobbie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of a helmet and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Kindles and gaudy cameras, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 politician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toy and galumphed unabashedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive smallish woman wearing a burgundy dress lurched through the doorway.

"Avast," he declaimed, picking up a wooden playing card as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Bobbie Fritz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel deadly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Stockton. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Golly whiz. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Granular," she blustered. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as a groundskeeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Seafood Restaurant. Oh, he seemed monstrous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fondly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Edward Workman. He works at the tobacco shop on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clipboards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tsutsui gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clipboard in Bolivia 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 relaxing at the church when he climbed in and started to belch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to imitate that angry fathead," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of sardines and she wiped her eyes glibly. He noticed her garland looked puzzling. "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 earlobe gracefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stack my bag if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's an atrocious llama. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's atrocious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Workman?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Bolivia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked doubtfully, "did Mister Workman ever talk about someone named Aiden Shelby?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's little one," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Budapest too long. I hope you can do something about Edward soon."

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

"I can dart to Budapest as soon as I pack a cigarette lighter, a pith helmet, and my thumb drive."

"You'd better take a candy cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened boisterously out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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