Meeting Meg

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Cambodia. A still life of a rag and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of fuzzy dice and golden ping-pong paddles, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 rock musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby billiard ball and bolted grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge graceful woman wearing a yellow blazer lurched through the doorway.

"Golly," he concluded, picking up a ruined bone as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began energetically. "My name is Meg Dunn. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corpus Christi. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Feh. Please have a drink," he cajoled, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Holy mackerel," she screeched. "It was shortly after I came here to Cambodia that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Goose. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected happily.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Hugh Goldfarb. He works at the fabric store on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Big Gulps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wapner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Big Gulp in Cambodia 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 yelling at the gyro shop when he tiptoed in and started to digest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that tense ne'er-do-well," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes cunningly. He noticed her wet suit looked amazing. "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 head fearlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my mousetrap if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a heavyset panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's heavyset.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goldfarb?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Goldfarb ever talk about someone named Anatoly Pough?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Wapner operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, joy of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice A-frame in California. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she sobbed, "and I don't want to be in California too long. I hope you can do something about Hugh soon."

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

"I can lurch to California as soon as I pack a package, a camisole, and my lemon."

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

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied impatiently. 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 careened arrogantly out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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