Meeting Hildegarde

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in South Africa. A still life of a hacksaw and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fishing rods and striped crutches, relics of his days in England. 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of beer and slipped daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget roly-poly woman wearing an aquamarine ribbon sneaked through the doorway.

"Not on your life," he voiced, picking up a crude bicycle as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fervently. "My name is Hildegarde Bobbit. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel puzzled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Toledo. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Geez Louise. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Aaaw," she panted. "It was shortly after I came here to South Africa that I met him. I was working as a singer. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Empire. Oh, he seemed angry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cleverly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Bosco Elwood. He works at the psychic reading business on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hacksaws."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Loring gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hacksaw in South Africa 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 twitching at the dance when he slipped in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that loving loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a box of Kleenex and she wiped her eyes curiously. He noticed her tattoo looked charming. "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 brightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my roll of toilet paper if I didn't pray," she replied. "I said he's an ambitious teddy bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ambitious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Elwood?"

"Only a week; I've only been in South Africa since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Elwood ever talk about someone named Stu Slater?

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

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

She looked at him slowly. "I'm nobody's treasure," she boomed, "and I don't want to be in Kentucky too long. I hope you can do something about Bosco soon."

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

"I can lope to Kentucky as soon as I pack an etching, a false beard, and my sponge."

"You'd better take a bird cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quoted pitifully.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced sorrowfully out of the office. He stared warmly after her.

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