Meeting Vivian

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Akron. A still life of a flashlight and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flags and brightly-colored bird feeders, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 bicycle messenger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Big Gulp and ran hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky wizened woman wearing a burgundy tank top stormed through the doorway.

"Bravo," he boasted, picking up an expensive banana as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began threateningly. "My name is Vivian Arthur. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hong Kong. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ha-ha. Please have a drink," he intimated, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Grody to the max," she rationalized. "It was shortly after I came here to Akron that I met him. I was working as a security guard. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Pond. Oh, he seemed moody enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lightly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Frankie Marsh. He works at the video arcade on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of potato chips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Chu gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of potato chips in Akron 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 mumbling at the K-Mart when he straggled in and started to slobber. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disinfect that miniscule cootieface," she sobbed.

He handed her an Egyptian mummy and she wiped her eyes daintily. He noticed her hoop skirt looked curved. "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 hand trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cover my necklace if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's an athletic iguana. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marsh?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Akron since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked neatly, "did Mister Marsh ever talk about someone named T.J. McGraw?

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

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

She looked at him dreamily. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she opined, "and I don't want to be in Lima too long. I hope you can do something about Frankie soon."

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

"I can skid to Lima as soon as I pack a church key, a veil, and my pickle."

"You'd better take a tube of glue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he phrased quietly.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled strangely out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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