Meeting Polly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Oslo. A still life of a bullet and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tubes of toothpaste and clean magnifying glasses, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 surgeon, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pacifier and barrelled arrogantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin blond woman wearing a beige leotard lurched through the doorway.

"Man alive," he rationalized, picking up a hand-carved bat as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began joyously. "My name is Polly Burke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel eccentric. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Baton Rouge. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alrighty. Please have a drink," he questioned, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Why not?," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Oslo that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Fiesta. Oh, he seemed childish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected merrily.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Jack Collier. He works at the gift shop on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rexford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Oslo 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 collapsing at the day care center when he careened in and started to belch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to understand that mindless knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a flashlight and she wiped her eyes fervently. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked bent. "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 femur clumsily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my orange if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a frightened mare. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frightened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Collier?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Oslo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Collier ever talk about someone named Raymond Marlowe?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Rexford operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-babe, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice log cabin in Tallahassee. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him curiously. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Jack soon."

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

"I can bounce to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a doily, a G-string, and my hot potato."

"You'd better take a spinning wheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grieved queerly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied later. I also have an extremely valuable collection of stacks of papers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ambled nimbly out of the office. He stared rapidly after her.

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