Meeting Marisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Budapest. A still life of an iPod and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags and spongy ingots of plutonium, relics of his days in Senegal. 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 optician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby purse and stormed vacantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine redheaded woman wearing a fuchsia black armband flounced through the doorway.

"Bilge," he accused, picking up a leather chamber pot as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Marisa Oliver. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tired. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big deal. Please have a drink," he responded, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Stoked," she griped. "It was shortly after I came here to Budapest that I met him. I was working as an Internet celebrity. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Fiesta. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected primly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Dan Chen. He works at the bank on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rubber chickens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Moodle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rubber chicken in Budapest 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 backing down at the ski resort when he tramped in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confront that conceited pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a broom and she wiped her eyes firmly. He noticed her scarf looked colossal. "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 toupee hopefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tweak my roll of toilet paper if I didn't meow," she replied. "I said he's a brilliant frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brilliant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Chen?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Budapest since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daringly, "did Mister Chen ever talk about someone named Quincy Easton?

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

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

She looked at him surreptitiously. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she howled, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about Dan soon."

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

"I can skip to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a wrench, a robe, and my beach ball."

"You'd better take a fountain pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he panted angrily.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked furiously out of the office. He stared queerly after her.

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