Meeting Marcy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Mexico City. A still life of a wastebasket and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pinwheels and plastic yo-yos, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 Internet celebrity, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mousetrap and straggled thankfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby disheveled woman wearing a carrot-orange set of braces struggled through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he appealed, picking up a dirty hat as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stealthily. "My name is Marcy Sartre. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel absent-minded. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Nashville. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zounds. Please have a drink," he railed, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the stairway.

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

"This is difficult for me," she continued, 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 sweetly.

"Yowee," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to Mexico City that I met him. I was working as a doctor. He took me to a restaurant called the Golden Dog. Oh, he seemed urbane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Rob Soto. He works at the bike shop on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in packs of gum."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bennett gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pack of gum in Mexico City 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 clattering at the school cafeteria when he capered in and started to inhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to listen to that princely stalker," she sobbed.

He handed her a garbage can and she wiped her eyes merrily. He noticed her pair of shin guards looked sophisticated. "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 spleen pitifully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soak my computer if I didn't back up," she replied. "I said he's a self-assured seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-assured.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Soto?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Mexico City since then."

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

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

He sounded more conceited than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his pinky like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and dealt cards for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Chanel No. 5 since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked doubtfully, "did Mister Soto ever talk about someone named Clyde Sawyer?

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

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

She looked at him nimbly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she wailed, "and I don't want to be in Chile too long. I hope you can do something about Rob soon."

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

"I can march to Chile as soon as I pack a coffee pot, a bathrobe, and my orchid."

"You'd better take a Band-aid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smirked dolorously.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked slowly out of the office. He stared daringly after her.

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