Meeting Marla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Karachi. A still life of a campaign sign and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Happy Meals and gigantic cans of soup, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 animal trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby padlock and waded nimbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous lanky woman wearing a tan jogging suit rushed through the doorway.

"Incredible," he chimed, picking up a dirty artificial flower as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolefully. "My name is Marla Ellis. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dowdy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in El Paso. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Piffle," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Karachi that I met him. I was working as a crime scene investigator. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Pig. Oh, he seemed obedient enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Howard Lombardi. He works at the jewelry store on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in plaques."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the White gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a plaque in Karachi 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 hiding at the saloon when he pranced in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that artistic wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a blanket and she wiped her eyes miserably. He noticed her wizard's hat looked crooked. "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 skull solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would nuke my dog collar if I didn't wobble," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lombardi?"

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

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

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

He sounded more mindless than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his eyelash like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and passed out 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 defiantly, "did Mister Lombardi ever talk about someone named Noel Beagle?

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

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

She looked at him gleefully. "I'm nobody's bud," she avowed, "and I don't want to be in Denmark too long. I hope you can do something about Howard soon."

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

"I can stalk to Denmark as soon as I pack a crystal ball, a polo shirt, and my coat check ticket."

"You'd better take a pizza too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he burbled defiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and strode obediently out of the office. He stared perkily after her.

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