Meeting Patricia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lesotho. A still life of a pillow and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ropes and striped blank checks, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 massage therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bugle and rolled dolefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat youthful woman wearing an orange skeleton costume whirled through the doorway.

"Alas," he thought, picking up a smooth stone as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began irritably. "My name is Patricia Talley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel amiable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tampa. Her Adam's apple made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great Jehosaphat. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Alack," she croaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as a counselor. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed drowsy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Josh Grayheels. He works at the ad agency on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magazines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Piper gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magazine in Lesotho 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 breathing at the gyro shop when he slipped in and started to come back. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ostracize that ungainly wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a cork and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her hat looked excellent. "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 adrenal gland crazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would monitor my piggy bank if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's an urbane dodo bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's urbane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grayheels?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Lesotho since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tearfully, "did Mister Grayheels ever talk about someone named Walt Adler?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she yawned, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Josh soon."

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

"I can trek to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a cotton ball, a tinfoil hat, and my wrench."

"You'd better take a stapler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed busily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied smoothly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Hostess Ding Dongs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and rolled thoughtfully out of the office. He stared brashly after her.

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