Meeting Minnie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Denmark. A still life of a ruler and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fish and mechanical darts, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 consultant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ghetto blaster and straggled sadly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny petite woman wearing a crimson dress barrelled through the doorway.

"Son of a gun," he stormed, picking up a broken toilet plunger as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lovingly. "My name is Minnie Foreman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel generous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Newark. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Isht. Please have a drink," he sobbed, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"I'm on it," she begged. "It was shortly after I came here to Denmark that I met him. I was working as a rock musician. He took me to a restaurant called New York Holiday. Oh, he seemed brilliant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected timidly.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Vic Barbee. He works at the used car lot on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bilge pumps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shackleton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bilge pump in Denmark 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 snoring at the pet store when he jumped in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pray for that rugged bandicoot," she sobbed.

He handed her a teacup and she wiped her eyes victoriously. He noticed her wedding dress looked handy. "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 face sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would archive my thumb drive if I didn't do nothing," she replied. "I said he's a dumb meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barbee?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked flightily, "did Mister Barbee ever talk about someone named Larry Schaffer?

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

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

She looked at him demurely. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she urged, "and I don't want to be in Egypt too long. I hope you can do something about Vic soon."

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

"I can stride to Egypt as soon as I pack a Bible, a dirndl, and my bottle of painkillers."

"You'd better take a pack of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired cruelly.

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

She rose from her seat and sped sternly out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

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