Meeting Mildred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in the Czech Republic. A still life of a book and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various antennas and heavy coupons, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 disk jockey, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cigar and sallied forth lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal nervous woman wearing an olive green award medal crawled through the doorway.

"Lordy," he lamented, picking up a miniature can of beans as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Mildred Funk. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Rapids. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Um. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Waa," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to the Czech Republic that I met him. I was working as a lawyer. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Gourmet. Oh, he seemed difficult enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glumly.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Chad Pattel. He works at the bank on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cotton balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacDonald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cotton ball in the Czech Republic 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 groaning at the tattoo parlor when he rolled in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that tall birdbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pepper grinder and she wiped her eyes cheerfully. He noticed her belly button jewel looked plastic. "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 intestine suspiciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tweak my church key if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's a slimy spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's slimy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pattel?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in the Czech Republic since then."

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

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

He sounded more boring than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his wrist 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 tar since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Pattel ever talk about someone named Demetrius Nussbaum?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's beloved," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in Belize too long. I hope you can do something about Chad soon."

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

"I can creep to Belize as soon as I pack a stack of papers, a pair of Oxfords, and my spider."

"You'd better take a crayon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vouched haughtily.

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

She rose from her seat and walked shyly out of the office. He stared hysterically after her.

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