Meeting Winifred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in India. A still life of a sack and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stamps and fresh egg shells, relics of his days in Israel. 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 sailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby elephant tusk and zipped thankfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall slender woman wearing an indigo shawl tiptoed through the doorway.

"At last," he boasted, picking up a petite spider as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began craftily. "My name is Winifred Shipman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel presumptuous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Brasilia. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hey. Please have a drink," he pointed out, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Bravo," she maintained. "It was shortly after I came here to India that I met him. I was working as an animal trainer. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Home. Oh, he seemed excitable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crazily.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Josh Benson. He works at the boutique on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Barbie dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Olson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Barbie doll in India 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 crouching at the mosque when he trotted in and started to weep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to agree with that deadly tattletale," she sobbed.

He handed her a hacksaw and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her pair of briefs looked handy. "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 claw urgently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would poke my helmet if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a hysterical mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hysterical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Benson?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in India since then."

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

"Okay, so this Josh Benson 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 little toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and went limp for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like orange peel since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked energetically, "did Mister Benson ever talk about someone named Cecil Spencer?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's patootie," she informed, "and I don't want to be in Nigeria too long. I hope you can do something about Josh soon."

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

"I can trek to Nigeria as soon as I pack a suitcase, a pair of briefs, and my fire hose."

"You'd better take an arrowhead too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored openly.

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

She rose from her seat and marched hopelessly out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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