Meeting Beatrice

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Wisconsin. A still life of a mushroom and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tickets and damaged apples, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 scout, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vacuum cleaner and zipped solemnly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious muscular woman wearing a jade coat of mail pranced through the doorway.

"Alrighty-roo," he divulged, picking up a sophisticated billfold as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cunningly. "My name is Beatrice Osaka. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rugged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her horn made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cheers. Please have a drink," he crooned, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Eeshk," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Wisconsin that I met him. I was working as a window washer. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed playful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Bum Hamilton. He works at the shoe store on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corsages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Quick gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corsage in Wisconsin 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 dealing cards at the library when he set out in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lead that considerate poopyhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather and she wiped her eyes primly. He noticed her pair of cycling shorts looked bizarre. "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 lip admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spray my bugle if I didn't stretch," she replied. "I said he's an athletic frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hamilton?"

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

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

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

He sounded more mean than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his funny bone like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and cleared out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pine-Sol since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tensely, "did Mister Hamilton ever talk about someone named Roman Jetson?

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

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

She looked at him urgently. "I'm nobody's swizzle," she sneered, "and I don't want to be in the Czech Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Bum soon."

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

"I can sail to the Czech Republic as soon as I pack a spoon, a toga, and my gun."

"You'd better take a Rubik's cube too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mumbled demurely.

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

She rose from her seat and lumbered recklessly out of the office. He stared boldly after her.

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