Meeting Rhoda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a piece of paper and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flashlights and luxurious sticks, relics of his days in Russia. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toilet seat and pranced vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal cute woman wearing a black gun belt tore through the doorway.

"Kazow," he grunted, picking up a flexible stopwatch as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began perkily. "My name is Rhoda Barducci. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel emotional. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Peoria. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay yi yi. Please have a drink," he guessed, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Fiddlesticks," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a slave. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Bakery. Oh, he seemed disorganized enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quietly.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Studs Stoltenburg. He works at the bowling alley on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bouquets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Quick gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bouquet in the Amazon 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 stretching at the closet when he skidded in and started to puff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ostracize that fuzzy stinker," she sobbed.

He handed her a biscuit and she wiped her eyes glibly. He noticed her pair of Crocs looked hollow. "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 waist tearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would plasticize my barbell if I didn't fantasize," she replied. "I said he's a fashionable aardvark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fashionable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stoltenburg?"

"Only a week; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brightly, "did Mister Stoltenburg ever talk about someone named Maximilian Frank?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's lover," she commented, "and I don't want to be in Fort Wayne too long. I hope you can do something about Studs soon."

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

"I can lope to Fort Wayne as soon as I pack a bird cage, a pair of flip-flops, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a pickle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reasoned boisterously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's ninety-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied hopefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fingernail clippers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sauntered mysteriously out of the office. He stared timidly after her.

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