Meeting Olive

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Seychelles. A still life of an Egyptian mummy and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bats and used baby dolls, relics of his days in Panama. 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 butler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of toothpaste and danced grimly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky athletic woman wearing a grey pair of handcuffs waded through the doorway.

"Bilge," he yelped, picking up a large billfold as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Olive Truman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel emotional. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bull Run. Her neck made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get out. Please have a drink," he agreed, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Phooey," she declaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Seychelles that I met him. I was working as an ice cream vendor. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Orchid. Oh, he seemed apoplectic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Sebastian Arthur. He works at the liquor store on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in duffel bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sokoloff gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a duffel bag in Seychelles 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 sniffing at the bowling alley when he trekked in and started to wait. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to berate that happy crazy person," she sobbed.

He handed her a duffel bag and she wiped her eyes cruelly. He noticed her pair of pajamas looked wet. "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 collarbone caustically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clean my feather if I didn't grow up," she replied. "I said he's a moody orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's moody.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Arthur?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Seychelles since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked violently, "did Mister Arthur ever talk about someone named Morris Zing?

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

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

She looked at him sweetly. "I'm nobody's dear," she voiced, "and I don't want to be in Illinois too long. I hope you can do something about Sebastian soon."

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

"I can pad to Illinois as soon as I pack a baseball bat, a uniform, and my remote control."

"You'd better take a cell phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quoted primly.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded primly out of the office. He stared frantically after her.

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