Meeting Mary Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Colombia. A still life of a stamp and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flyswatters and soft paintbrushes, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 scoutmaster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby doily and ambled effortlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine lanky woman wearing an azure space suit darted through the doorway.

"Hold your horses," he chattered, picking up a nice twig as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woodenly. "My name is Mary Lou Bennett. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel eccentric. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Delhi. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I think not. Please have a drink," he boomed, handing her a soda and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Scurvy dog," she pleaded. "It was shortly after I came here to Colombia that I met him. I was working as a magician. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing Spoon. Oh, he seemed petulant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her soda. "His name's JD Gupta. He works at the office supply store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pigeons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Onassis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pigeon in Colombia 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 collapsing at the pet store when he scurried in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to get to know that homely goon," she sobbed.

He handed her an iPad and she wiped her eyes hopelessly. He noticed her smartwatch looked automatic. "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 neck automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would manage my magnet if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a fiendish wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fiendish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gupta?"

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

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

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

He sounded more bold than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his shin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and dilly-dallied for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cherry blossoms since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked nicely, "did Mister Gupta ever talk about someone named Gilmo Falcon?

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

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

She looked at him intensely. "I'm nobody's friend," she realized, "and I don't want to be in Algeria too long. I hope you can do something about JD soon."

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

"I can breeze to Algeria as soon as I pack a joint, a cloak, and my tube of toothpaste."

"You'd better take a radio too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he giggled nimbly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered lazily out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

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