Meeting Penelope

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a doily and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various oriental vases and crude coloring books, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 monk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of fuzzy dice and jumped dreamily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf dainty woman wearing an orange necklace slid through the doorway.

"Shoo," he admitted, picking up a funny deck of cards as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Penelope Radcliffe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel phlegmatic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Clara. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Spiff. Please have a drink," he chimed, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Awesome," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a crime scene investigator. He took me to a restaurant called the Great Cafe. Oh, he seemed confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unexpectedly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Douglas Shapiro. He works at the craft store on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in arrowheads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGraw gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an arrowhead in the Amazon 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 primping at the synagogue when he skipped in and started to nod. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hug that freakish pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a cracker and she wiped her eyes immediately. He noticed her dress 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 nostril fearlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would banish my bicycle if I didn't mutter," she replied. "I said he's a prissy mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prissy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shapiro?"

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

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

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

He sounded more adorable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his stomach like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and inhaled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like diesel exhaust since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister Shapiro ever talk about someone named Eric Usher?

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

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

She looked at him perkily. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she expressed, "and I don't want to be in Albuquerque too long. I hope you can do something about Douglas soon."

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

"I can skitter to Albuquerque as soon as I pack a painting, a beard, and my purse."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he clarified openly.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled thoughtfully out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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