Meeting Millie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Tallahassee. A still life of a stuffed kitten and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of pliers and cheap coupons, relics of his days in Germany. 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 evangelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baby doll and proceeded humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony blushing woman wearing a yellow bra sidled through the doorway.

"Yow," he ranted, picking up a porcelain radio as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began truculently. "My name is Millie Ward. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel peculiar. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greeley. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Is that a fact. Please have a drink," he warbled, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Ha," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Tallahassee that I met him. I was working as a coroner. He took me to a restaurant called London Gastropub. Oh, he seemed clever enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Charlie Watkins. He works at the popcorn shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Big Gulps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shoemaker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Big Gulp in Tallahassee 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 screeching at the day care center when he loped in and started to burble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to surprise that idiotic lamebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a clarinet and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her moustache looked brittle. "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 hangnail woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would admire my banana if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a choleric airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's choleric.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Watkins?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Tallahassee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked rapidly, "did Mister Watkins ever talk about someone named André Nolan?

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

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

She looked at him peevishly. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Nauru too long. I hope you can do something about Charlie soon."

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

"I can bounce to Nauru as soon as I pack a pen, a midi skirt, and my bit of Elmer's glue."

"You'd better take a piece of paper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smirked gleefully.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered quietly out of the office. He stared courteously after her.

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