Meeting Priscilla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Botswana. A still life of a box of candy and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various remote controls and fancy bagpipes, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 contractor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby muffin and sprinted frenetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout tiny woman wearing a forest green pair of bloomers lumbered through the doorway.

"Mommy," he blustered, picking up a stuffed can of beans as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cruelly. "My name is Priscilla Banks. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stylish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Porto Alegre. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Exaltations. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Fantastic," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Botswana that I met him. I was working as an advertising agent. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Serpent. Oh, he seemed bold enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Rover Vintner. He works at the café on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mancini gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Botswana 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 sighing at the poetry reading when he careened in and started to bounce. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that moronic old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a pain pill and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her watch looked tiny. "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 piehole rapidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grasp my saw if I didn't dream," she replied. "I said he's a merry warthog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vintner?"

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

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

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

He sounded more polite 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 dill pickles since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked unexpectedly, "did Mister Vintner ever talk about someone named Ichabod Spence?

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

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

She looked at him threateningly. "I'm nobody's beloved," she snarled, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Rover soon."

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

"I can go to Seoul as soon as I pack a fishing rod, a pair of safety glasses, and my cream puff."

"You'd better take an African violet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed softly.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced sagely out of the office. He stared pitifully after her.

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