Meeting Scarlett

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Cape Town. A still life of a pen and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paperclips and ordinary crackers, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 stamp collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and sauntered firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous unkempt woman wearing a khaki beach towel clambered through the doorway.

"Gadzooks and crapadoodle," he brought up, picking up a tiny pearl as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Scarlett Nixon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel jolly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Granular. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Yowie," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Town that I met him. I was working as an electrical engineer. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Village. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Russ Shakewell. He works at the malt shop on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Walla gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Cape Town 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 sweating at the Elvis chapel when he rolled in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that frantic wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a pearl and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her sundress looked dry. "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 shoulder steadily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would darken my magazine if I didn't awaken," she replied. "I said he's a wary lynx. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shakewell?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Cape Town since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Shakewell ever talk about someone named Tyler Andrews?

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

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

She looked at him nervously. "I'm nobody's precious," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Washington too long. I hope you can do something about Russ soon."

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

"I can fly to Washington as soon as I pack a toilet seat, a bedsheet, and my magnet."

"You'd better take a key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled uneasily.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped queerly out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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