Meeting May

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Lima. A still life of a ruler and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cotton balls and mysterious pairs of knitting needles, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 reporter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peach and traipsed cautiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous plain woman wearing a crimson dog collar danced through the doorway.

"Ack," he invited, picking up an imitation dollhouse as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suspiciously. "My name is May Drake. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obnoxious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Detroit. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'll drink to that. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"Ahh," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Lima that I met him. I was working as a yoga instructor. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Wall. Oh, he seemed undignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Deng Maxwell. He works at the coffee shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shovels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wilhelm gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shovel in Lima 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 fidgeting at the laundromat when he tore in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to analyze that impish dummy," she sobbed.

He handed her a spinning wheel and she wiped her eyes curiously. He noticed her pair of cowboy boots looked used. "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 hand quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would split my nail if I didn't hide," she replied. "I said he's a quiet toad. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Maxwell?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Lima since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked thankfully, "did Mister Maxwell ever talk about someone named Carl Dipko?

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

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

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's cuddle-bear," she vowed, "and I don't want to be in the Amazon too long. I hope you can do something about Deng soon."

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

"I can parade to the Amazon as soon as I pack a timpani, a girdle, and my hacksaw."

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

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

She rose from her seat and slunk wearily out of the office. He stared kindly after her.

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