Meeting Megan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in St. Petersburg. A still life of a football and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various teacups and prickly cigars, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 tennis player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pain pill and waltzed testily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge beautiful woman wearing a purple pair of gloves inched through the doorway.

"Yahoo," he vouched, picking up a tiny bird feeder as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lovingly. "My name is Megan Griffin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-oh. Please have a drink," he opined, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Leapin' lizards," she quavered. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Petersburg that I met him. I was working as a baker. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Island. Oh, he seemed forgetful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Cheng Robinson. He works at the movie theater on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rubber chickens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the South gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rubber chicken in St. Petersburg 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 vegetating at the jail when he waddled in and started to cogitate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scream at that gregarious hothead," she sobbed.

He handed her a blanket and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her fig leaf looked porcelain. "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 femur nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would see my coat hanger if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a disorganized computer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disorganized.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Robinson?"

"Only a century; I've only been in St. Petersburg since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked urgently, "did Mister Robinson ever talk about someone named White Cloud Hartford?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Cheng soon."

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

"I can rush to Honolulu as soon as I pack a necklace, a pair of ear muffs, and my pail."

"You'd better take an egg shell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he alleged caustically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied languidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of abacuses. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and made a beeline frenetically out of the office. He stared properly after her.

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