Meeting Robin

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 flowers door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a suitcase and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Helmholz resonators and brightly-colored air compressors, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spider and skipped tensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony frail woman wearing an aquamarine beehive sailed through the doorway.

"Oh," he observed, picking up a miniature brochure as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began oddly. "My name is Robin Byers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Edinburgh. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zowie. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Whee," she howled. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as a food critic. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Feast. Oh, he seemed weary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fiercely.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Arturo Tran. He works at the hair salon on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of toothpaste."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Riggs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in Long Beach 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 cringing at the taco shop when he danced in and started to get along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that careful wannabe," she sobbed.

He handed her a hacksaw and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her baseball cap looked crisp. "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 artery dolefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would leave my calculator if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a vacuous cocker spaniel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vacuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tran?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Long Beach since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked delicately, "did Mister Tran ever talk about someone named Studs Ramirez?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she decided, "and I don't want to be in Italy too long. I hope you can do something about Arturo soon."

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

"I can skitter to Italy as soon as I pack a stuffed bunny, a tattoo, and my tube of glue."

"You'd better take a coloring book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hollered kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced fondly out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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