Meeting Margaret

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Baltimore. A still life of a pair of pliers and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various accordions and mysterious fire hoses, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 nanny, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corncob and tramped suspiciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat filthy woman wearing a mauve kilt blundered through the doorway.

"Shhh," he announced, picking up a striped iPad as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began obediently. "My name is Margaret Brainard. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel haughty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Phoenix. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cripes. Please have a drink," he observed, handing her a cup of tea and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Feh," she lamented. "It was shortly after I came here to Baltimore that I met him. I was working as a molecular biologist. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Moon. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blankly.

She stared into her cup of tea. "His name's Noel Lyman. He works at the Starbucks on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dollar bills."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hartford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dollar bill in Baltimore 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 throwing up at the spelling bee when he sallied forth in and started to wobble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hug that sinister snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her a notepad and she wiped her eyes reluctantly. He noticed her big smile looked authentic. "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 thumb threateningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pound my can of soup if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled swan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lyman?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Baltimore since then."

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

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

He sounded more rude 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 calmed down for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like rotten eggs since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked diligently, "did Mister Lyman ever talk about someone named Lear Witherspoon?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's big lug," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Noel soon."

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

"I can lope to Slovenia as soon as I pack a stapler, a tailcoat, and my muffin."

"You'd better take a chart too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined gruffly.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered lightly out of the office. He stared shakily after her.

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