Meeting Mary Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a flashlight and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sticks of gum and torn iPods, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 cartographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby apple and scooted deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied white woman wearing a peach pair of bell-bottoms whirled through the doorway.

"Hmm," he judged, picking up a delicate cork as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courteously. "My name is Mary Lou Hoffmann. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Aurora. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Teehee. Please have a drink," he answered, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Teehee," she remarked. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a stockbroker. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Moon. Oh, he seemed fearless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brashly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Bull Dinklefloss. He works at the shoe store on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fingernail clippers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Beasley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fingernail clipper in Waco 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 showing up at the movie theater when he stormed in and started to chuckle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tickle that rugged dope fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her a Van Gogh and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her nightgown looked crude. "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 calf proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would photograph my vacuum cleaner if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a comely lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's comely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dinklefloss?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Waco since then."

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

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

He sounded more gentle than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his knee like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and mumbled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Chanel No. 5 since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Dinklefloss ever talk about someone named Phillip Potatohead?

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

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

She looked at him kindly. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she squeaked, "and I don't want to be in Birmingham too long. I hope you can do something about Bull soon."

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

"I can hobble to Birmingham as soon as I pack a box, a hair net, and my sponge."

"You'd better take a hip flask too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelled positively.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered openly out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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