Meeting Millie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Suriname. A still life of a flag and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bats and overgrown bowls, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 infantryman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bagpipe and bolted unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny tiny woman wearing a hot pink scarf barrelled through the doorway.

"Lo and behold," he whispered, picking up a tiny air compressor as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began deliberately. "My name is Millie Esser. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cuddly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milan. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Drop dead. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Very well done," she enunciated. "It was shortly after I came here to Suriname that I met him. I was working as a woodcarver. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan House of Delights. Oh, he seemed prissy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected peevishly.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Willie Vickers. He works at the art museum on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacDonald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Suriname 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 grimacing at the taco shop when he rushed in and started to applaud. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quiet that powerful gump," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper clip and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her black belt looked huge. "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 lung greedily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would banish my broom if I didn't shake," she replied. "I said he's an agitated goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's agitated.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vickers?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Suriname since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked happily, "did Mister Vickers ever talk about someone named Ole Ruiz?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she analyzed, "and I don't want to be in Arkansas too long. I hope you can do something about Willie soon."

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

"I can scoot to Arkansas as soon as I pack an artificial flower, a flour sack, and my lemon."

"You'd better take an umbrella too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fretted caustically.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled innocently out of the office. He stared obediently after her.

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