Meeting Magnolia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Baltimore. A still life of a balloon and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pillows and automatic cardboard boxes, relics of his days in Serbia. 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 watchmaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby map and tumbled resignedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby roly-poly woman wearing a striped shawl sallied forth through the doorway.

"Spiff," he commented, picking up a crusty horseshoe as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began patiently. "My name is Magnolia Truman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Jacksonville. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Verily. Please have a drink," he peeped, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Shiver me timbers," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Baltimore that I met him. I was working as a bicycle messenger. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Knife. Oh, he seemed solitary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hastily.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Bum Romero. He works at the Starbucks on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in amulets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Steele gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an amulet in Baltimore 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 leering at the mosque when he breezed in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspend that ungainly gump," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her 'I'm with Stupid' shirt looked large. "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 adrenal gland hopefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extinguish my bag of groceries if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's an ungainly frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ungainly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Romero?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Baltimore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Romero ever talk about someone named Horsie Jensen?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she hissed, "and I don't want to be in Sudan too long. I hope you can do something about Bum soon."

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

"I can careen to Sudan as soon as I pack an apple, an evening gown, and my dictionary."

"You'd better take a backpack too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he preached swiftly.

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

She rose from her seat and flew woefully out of the office. He stared lazily after her.

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