Meeting Stephanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Senegal. A still life of a tissue and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various candy bars and synthetic coins, relics of his days in Botswana. 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 mattress tester, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Hostess Ding Dong and zipped woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated pallid woman wearing a violet pair of bloomers bounced through the doorway.

"Fie," he taunted, picking up a miniature rubber stamp as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Stephanie Wenzel. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obnoxious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Guadalajara. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Darn. Please have a drink," he avowed, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Knock me over with a feather," she argued. "It was shortly after I came here to Senegal that I met him. I was working as an exterminator. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Cafe. Oh, he seemed disorganized enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Cheng Roe. He works at the popcorn shop on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in carrots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Flynn gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a carrot in Senegal 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 cogitating at the health food store when he struggled in and started to blink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to go out with that tall punk," she sobbed.

He handed her a button and she wiped her eyes furiously. He noticed her balaclava looked multicolored. "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 antenna smoothly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bathe my business card if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's a young dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's young.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Roe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Roe ever talk about someone named Calvin Pummelly?

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

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

She looked at him zestily. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she analyzed, "and I don't want to be in Ontario too long. I hope you can do something about Cheng soon."

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

"I can lurch to Ontario as soon as I pack a tuba, a robe, and my vase."

"You'd better take an antenna too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he admitted flightily.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled happily out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

Next Chapter