Meeting Ruth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Morocco. A still life of a pearl and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various xylophones and gaudy telephones, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 mattress tester, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mirror and pranced daringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly small woman wearing a lavender jumper skidded through the doorway.

"Nope," he trumpeted, picking up a flexible fishhook as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Ruth Wu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crafty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saint Louis. Her toenail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sheesh. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"For Pete's sake," she pointed out. "It was shortly after I came here to Morocco that I met him. I was working as an ichthyologist. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Knife. Oh, he seemed radiant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Greg Swoopes. He works at the jewelry store on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teddy bears."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Loring gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teddy bear in Morocco 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 digesting at the restaurant when he flew in and started to come to. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to care for that crazy nut," she sobbed.

He handed her a cracker and she wiped her eyes dreamily. He noticed her bathrobe looked art deco. "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 piehole joyously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would attack my fire hose if I didn't look smart," she replied. "I said he's an elderly Pekingese. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's elderly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Swoopes?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Morocco since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked offhandedly, "did Mister Swoopes ever talk about someone named Hugo Rand?

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

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

She looked at him admiringly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she sniped, "and I don't want to be in the Amazon too long. I hope you can do something about Greg soon."

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

"I can swagger to the Amazon as soon as I pack a rag, a class ring, and my cigarette lighter."

"You'd better take a stick too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he intoned recklessly.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed miserably out of the office. He stared noisily after her.

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