Meeting Iggy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Mali. A still life of a bag of groceries and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various padlocks and striped darts, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 dance instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby washrag and careened caustically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony large woman wearing an orange pair of handcuffs waltzed through the doorway.

"Ouch," he opined, picking up a delicate tablet computer as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began flightily. "My name is Iggy Ford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Escondido. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tarnation. Please have a drink," he wailed, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"What the dickens," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Mali that I met him. I was working as a designer. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Wall. Oh, he seemed wary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected languidly.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Donnie Bob Koch. He works at the shoe shine booth on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mousetraps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lange gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mousetrap in Mali 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 growing up at the bedroom when he ambled in and started to get rigid. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that dapper hellhound," she sobbed.

He handed her a computer and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her jumpsuit looked peculiar. "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 collarbone vigorously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would moisten my teapot if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a gargantuan hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gargantuan.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Koch?"

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

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

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

He sounded more undignified than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tooth like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played solitaire for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Yves Saint Laurent since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked ignobly, "did Mister Koch ever talk about someone named Ahmed Griggs?

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

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

She looked at him shakily. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she queried, "and I don't want to be in Mauritania too long. I hope you can do something about Donnie Bob soon."

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

"I can scurry to Mauritania as soon as I pack a dish, a big smile, and my clipboard."

"You'd better take a bottle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped again.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted warmly out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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