Meeting Reba

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Mozambique. A still life of a tennis racket and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various apples and art deco spiders, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby comb and loped tearfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky chubby woman wearing a crimson pair of safety glasses hobbled through the doorway.

"Oh please," he crooned, picking up a sleek bagpipe as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began oddly. "My name is Reba Henderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel muscular. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lincoln. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Drop dead. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Tut-tut," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Mozambique that I met him. I was working as a waiter. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed idiotic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sharply.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Hunter Evans. He works at the mortuary on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in towels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Garston gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a towel in Mozambique 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 sniffling at the poetry reading when he scampered in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dump that comely knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a peanut and she wiped her eyes wildly. He noticed her negligee looked old. "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 toe stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kill my rag if I didn't jump," she replied. "I said he's an agile mountain goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's agile.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Evans?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Mozambique since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Evans ever talk about someone named Tommy Daniels?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she rambled, "and I don't want to be in China too long. I hope you can do something about Hunter soon."

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

"I can stalk to China as soon as I pack an oriental vase, a pair of dungarees, and my hair dryer."

"You'd better take a box too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered primly.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded cheerfully out of the office. He stared violently after her.

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