Meeting Marcie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Chicago. A still life of a helmet and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clothespins and fabulous teddy bears, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 petroleum engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Egyptian mummy and struggled furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight bedraggled woman wearing a red dirndl waltzed through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he snarled, picking up a prickly piano as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sourly. "My name is Marcie Talley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frightened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My land. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Bowwow," she sputtered. "It was shortly after I came here to Chicago that I met him. I was working as a philatelist. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Fiesta. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Lee Feldman. He works at the bookstore on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pickles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Chang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pickle in Chicago 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 bawling at the supermarket when he staggered in and started to seethe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to satisfy that direct turkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a hand puppet and she wiped her eyes shakily. He noticed her class ring looked narrow. "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 lip trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would select my avocado if I didn't spit," she replied. "I said he's a brave crocodile. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Feldman?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Chicago since then."

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

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

He sounded more ungainly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thumb like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and ran away 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 cunningly, "did Mister Feldman ever talk about someone named Chad Ross?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Chang 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 log cabin in Zambia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him roughly. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Zambia too long. I hope you can do something about Lee soon."

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

"I can dash to Zambia as soon as I pack a fire hose, a pair of handcuffs, and my Rubik's cube."

"You'd better take a roll of duct tape too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shrieked peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed wryly out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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