Meeting Ida

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in West Virginia. A still life of a bird cage and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various vacuum cleaners and used bilge pumps, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 gravedigger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby advertisement and swung greedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky roly-poly woman wearing a tan tutu ran through the doorway.

"Buzzards," he uttered, picking up a nice billfold as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sharply. "My name is Ida Fosbury. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel witty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oklahoma City. Her scalp made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bilge. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Maybe," she observed. "It was shortly after I came here to West Virginia that I met him. I was working as a gemcutter. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Deli. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected smoothly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Mario Small. He works at the pizza parlor on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boomerangs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lister gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a boomerang in West Virginia 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 thinking at the pool hall when he sprinted in and started to dither. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that eccentric clapperdudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a stone and she wiped her eyes uneasily. He noticed her belt buckle looked peculiar. "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 wrist humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bend my basketball if I didn't yell," she replied. "I said he's a hysterical baboon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hysterical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Small?"

"Only a week; I've only been in West Virginia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked angrily, "did Mister Small ever talk about someone named Jason Sarma?

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

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

She looked at him surreptitiously. "I'm nobody's treasure," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Podunk Hollow too long. I hope you can do something about Mario soon."

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

"I can waddle to Podunk Hollow as soon as I pack an arrowhead, a gown, and my map."

"You'd better take a business card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled impatiently out of the office. He stared dolefully after her.

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