Meeting Barb

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a banana and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various duffel bags and luxurious calling cards, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 soccer coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mirror and slithered repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky sexy woman wearing a green cloak walked through the doorway.

"Thanks for nothing," he squawked, picking up a curved apple as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Barb White. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sloppy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Orlando. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Buzzards. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Diddly poo," she screeched. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as an X-ray technician. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Clover. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Bill MacDonald. He works at the bus station on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of popcorn."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pummelly gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of popcorn in Chattanooga 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 inhaling at the day care center when he scurried in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that moronic clod," she sobbed.

He handed her a clipboard and she wiped her eyes madly. He noticed her maxi skirt looked thick. "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 thorax delicately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prohibit my computer if I didn't wait," she replied. "I said he's a zany sasquatch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacDonald?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Chattanooga since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister MacDonald ever talk about someone named Ken Prang?

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

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

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's precious," she grieved, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Bill soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a bilge pump, a surgical mask, and my vase."

"You'd better take a magnet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed fervently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied innocently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ice cream cones. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and clambered urgently out of the office. He stared arrogantly after her.

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