Meeting Meg

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Lesotho. A still life of a piggy bank and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bowling balls and cheap brochures, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 convenience store clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby advertisement and skidded perkily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard dark woman wearing a brown T-shirt proceeded through the doorway.

"Indeed," he yammered, picking up a crisp cupcake as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Meg Griffin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disorganized. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Jose. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Son of a Baptist preacher. Please have a drink," he burbled, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Far out, man," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as an acrobat. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Plate. Oh, he seemed fiendish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Lucian Gardner. He works at the perfumery on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in iPods."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Morrison gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an iPod in Lesotho 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 raising an eyebrow at the laundromat when he skidded in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that urbane weevil," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes breathlessly. He noticed her pair of flip-flops looked crusty. "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 larynx surreptitiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strip my hammer if I didn't crouch," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious chicken. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gardner?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Lesotho 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 Lucian Gardner is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more clever than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Achilles tendon like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and peeped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fresh-baked bread since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked ingeniously, "did Mister Gardner ever talk about someone named Floyd Hunt?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's treasure," she implored, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about Lucian soon."

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

"I can sally forth to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a roll of duct tape, a blouse, and my thumb drive."

"You'd better take an accordion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he recited briskly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed valiantly out of the office. He stared crazily after her.

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