Meeting Rose

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in South Bend. A still life of a bag of potato chips and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tubes of toothpaste and hefty houseplants, relics of his days in Malta. 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 restaurant inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby battery and slithered glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty sleek woman wearing a teal pair of dentures tore through the doorway.

"Yowie," he breathed, picking up a sophisticated pair of binoculars as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sharply. "My name is Rose Dick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enraged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ha-ha. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Dang it," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to South Bend that I met him. I was working as a gambler. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Mountain. Oh, he seemed weary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected energetically.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Robert Badwell. He works at the McDonalds on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coloring books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Worm gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coloring book in South Bend 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 snorting at the jail when he crept in and started to run away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shock that elderly geek," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of chalk and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her uniform looked ancient. "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 liver fearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would feel my pinwheel if I didn't whistle," she replied. "I said he's a refined badger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Badwell?"

"Only a century; I've only been in South Bend since then."

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

"Okay, so this Robert Badwell 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 leg like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and winked for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like curry since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked strangely, "did Mister Badwell ever talk about someone named Mitch Plummer?

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

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

She looked at him languidly. "I'm nobody's doll," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Billings too long. I hope you can do something about Robert soon."

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

"I can canter to Billings as soon as I pack a fountain pen, a bustier, and my watering can."

"You'd better take a firecracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired needlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled lazily out of the office. He stared haughtily after her.

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