Meeting Deborah

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Mozambique. A still life of a can of beans and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various egg shells and curved baskets, relics of his days in Malta. 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 bootlegger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of scissors and tore sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall fair woman wearing an olive green robe swaggered through the doorway.

"Avast," he intimated, picking up a ragged antenna as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sharply. "My name is Deborah Ferrari. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel taciturn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bologna. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "So sure. Please have a drink," he pointed out, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

"This is difficult for me," she screeched, glancing at the pair of toe shoes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"I'm so sure," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Mozambique that I met him. I was working as a quarantine inspector. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Garden. Oh, he seemed brave enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brashly.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Hank Booth. He works at the newsstand on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blankets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Geiger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blanket in Mozambique 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 calculating at the restaurant when he scurried in and started to jerk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that hungry scoundrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a corsage and she wiped her eyes excitedly. He noticed her bustier looked hideous. "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 thigh viciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my ironing board if I didn't rejoice," she replied. "I said he's a rapacious wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rapacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Booth?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Mozambique since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slyly, "did Mister Booth ever talk about someone named Corbin McGrath?

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

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

She looked at him crankily. "I'm nobody's sweet," she indicated, "and I don't want to be in St. Louis too long. I hope you can do something about Hank soon."

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

"I can rush to St. Louis as soon as I pack a statue, a bonnet, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a ruler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and slid warily out of the office. He stared recklessly after her.

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