Meeting Marilyn

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

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

The office was adorned with various pumpkins and hand-painted file folders, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 woodworker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flower and barrelled dolorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget angelic woman wearing a peach pair of UGGs loped through the doorway.

"Eeshk," he pointed out, picking up a queer ball as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began testily. "My name is Marilyn Schmuckley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fascinating. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Austin. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now we're talking. Please have a drink," he proposed, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Sweet," she pointed out. "It was shortly after I came here to Denmark that I met him. I was working as a page. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Spoon. Oh, he seemed hysterical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Alexei Coons. He works at the tobacco shop on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peace pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Beach gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peace pipe in Denmark 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 fantasizing at the movie theater when he traipsed in and started to pass out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call that desperate hack," she sobbed.

He handed her an ingot of plutonium and she wiped her eyes dolefully. He noticed her set of scrubs looked art deco. "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 artery curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would twist my fish if I didn't scribble," she replied. "I said he's an unselfish burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unselfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Coons?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Denmark since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked roughly, "did Mister Coons ever talk about someone named Beauford Milenski?

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

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

She looked at him sagely. "I'm nobody's punkin," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about Alexei soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Florida as soon as I pack a pillow, a poodle skirt, and my fountain pen."

"You'd better take a bird bath too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued temperamentally.

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

She rose from her seat and sped demurely out of the office. He stared crankily after her.

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