Meeting Bubbles

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a tennis racket and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various baseball bats and ridiculous bouquets, relics of his days in Japan. 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 test pilot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cardboard box and walked gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious short woman wearing an azure shirt inched through the doorway.

"How about that," he brought up, picking up a burned advertisement as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ruefully. "My name is Bubbles Witherbee. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel puzzled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Paris. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Silence. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Hello," she squealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as a con artist. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed rude enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Garrett Popper. He works at the fortune teller shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in daisies."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Arthur gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a daisy in Kuwait 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 dancing at the mall when he trekked in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that dismal mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of knitting needles and she wiped her eyes fearlessly. He noticed her earring looked cheap. "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 hangnail narrowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would select my suitcase if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a puzzled honeybee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's puzzled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Popper?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Kuwait since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brightly, "did Mister Popper ever talk about someone named Will Porter?

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

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

She looked at him lovingly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she mumbled, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about Garrett soon."

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

"I can waltz to Florida as soon as I pack a ball, a class ring, and my flag."

"You'd better take a diary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he provoked haughtily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred ninety-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied courageously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of floppy disks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and padded sharply out of the office. He stared hysterically after her.

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