Meeting Eppie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Paris. A still life of a can of sardines and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peaches and small coat hangers, relics of his days in Peru. 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPhone and lurched zestily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal redheaded woman wearing a pea green gun belt skidded through the doorway.

"Kazow," he whimpered, picking up a papery gun as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cheerfully. "My name is Eppie Ecklund. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fascinating. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fontana. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alright. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Holy mackerel," she affirmed. "It was shortly after I came here to Paris that I met him. I was working as a mechanic. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Bridge. Oh, he seemed haughty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wildly.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Nestor Flash. He works at the café on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in basketballs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Grant gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a basketball in Paris 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 jumping at the closet when he flounced in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that cheerful donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a plaque and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her scarf looked fluffy. "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 nostril lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strip my hat if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's a monstrous hog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's monstrous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flash?"

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

"I see." He felt for his Colt 45 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sarcastically, "did Mister Flash ever talk about someone named Bart Verma?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Grant operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, knight in shining armor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice manor house in Bangalore. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she urged, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Nestor soon."

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

"I can speed to Bangalore as soon as I pack an avocado, a pair of gloves, and my spool of thread."

"You'd better take a church key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he giggled proudly.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped happily out of the office. He stared peevishly after her.

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