Meeting Hilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of an orchid and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various spools of thread and decrepit peaches, relics of his days in Belize. 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 investment banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird cage and ran doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky homely woman wearing a burgundy tank top sidled through the doorway.

"Land's sakes," he requested, picking up a handy lemon as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began excitedly. "My name is Hilda Wheeler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bangalore. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Never mind. Please have a drink," he quavered, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Okay," she sniffed. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as an entomologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Magic. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Erwin Mars. He works at the fortune teller shop on 36th 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 Bartholomew gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in the United Kingdom 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 spitting at the bookstore when he pranced in and started to ruminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kiss that frantic slug," she sobbed.

He handed her a tablet computer and she wiped her eyes languidly. He noticed her pair of bloomers looked speckled. "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 toupee suavely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prepare my chamber pot if I didn't throw up," she replied. "I said he's a demented chameleon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mars?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in the United Kingdom since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked diligently, "did Mister Mars ever talk about someone named Pinky Oldfather?

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

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

She looked at him sternly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she stated, "and I don't want to be in Berlin too long. I hope you can do something about Erwin soon."

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

"I can tear to Berlin as soon as I pack an elephant tusk, a pair of Groucho glasses, and my cactus plant."

"You'd better take a plaque too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered accidentally.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped cruelly out of the office. He stared peevishly after her.

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