Meeting Briget

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Mongolia. A still life of a Lego set and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pacifiers and smumpy hot potatoes, relics of his days in Kosovo. 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 cowboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hand puppet and waded violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin curvy woman wearing a lime-green pair of gloves dashed through the doorway.

"Woof," he remarked, picking up a striking tennis racket as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vacantly. "My name is Briget Plummer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel comely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Baltimore. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thanks for nothing. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the windowsill.

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

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

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

"Adios," she moaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Mongolia that I met him. I was working as a missionary. He took me to a restaurant called the New Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected swiftly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Ethan Spencer. He works at the McDonalds on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Truman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ball in Mongolia 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 grunting at the saloon when he jumped in and started to shrivel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to talk to that frightened lubberly lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog biscuit and she wiped her eyes peevishly. He noticed her Eton jacket looked polka-dotted. "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 eye blindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shoot my bullet if I didn't gaze," she replied. "I said he's a wary eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spencer?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Mongolia since then."

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

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

He sounded more cowardly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his face like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did the Hokey Pokey for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a sardine cannery since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked ruefully, "did Mister Spencer ever talk about someone named Maloney Sales?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's baby," she called, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Ethan soon."

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

"I can whirl to Andorra as soon as I pack a clam, a fez, and my spinning wheel."

"You'd better take an umbrella too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered grudgingly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened swiftly out of the office. He stared smoothly after her.

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