Meeting Rosemary

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Buenos Aires. A still life of a crate and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various model airplanes and brittle coins, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 innkeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby watering can and galumphed thankfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous demonic woman wearing a mauve pair of flip-flops clambered through the doorway.

"Oh my word," he wept, picking up a hand-made Egyptian mummy as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crankily. "My name is Rosemary Reyes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel heavyset. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Syracuse. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Godspeed. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Criminy," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to Buenos Aires that I met him. I was working as a home executive. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Goose. Oh, he seemed angry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hungrily.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Harvey Sandman. He works at the perfumery on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in staplers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ling gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stapler in Buenos Aires 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 cheering at the Elvis chapel when he capered in and started to screech. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to have a talk with that exuberant worm," she sobbed.

He handed her a bowl and she wiped her eyes fiercely. He noticed her bridal gown looked abnormal. "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 claw daintily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would understand my stuffed kitten if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's an unselfish pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unselfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sandman?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Buenos Aires since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister Sandman ever talk about someone named Flash Lizard?

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

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

She looked at him trustingly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she offered, "and I don't want to be in Afghanistan too long. I hope you can do something about Harvey soon."

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

"I can slide to Afghanistan as soon as I pack a vase, a pair of overalls, and my Band-aid."

"You'd better take a piano too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted shakily.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled joyously out of the office. He stared grimly after her.

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