Meeting Mabel
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought suddenly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling shoes door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Baltimore. A still life of a pink flamingo and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various blank checks and dry toilet seats, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of shaving cream and swaggered lickety-split toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a short graceful woman wearing an azure denim skirt bolted through the doorway.
"Voilà," he continued, picking up a woven egg shell as he slipped to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began cleverly. "My name is Mabel Cantrell. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel sleepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lake Placid. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ooh. Please have a drink," he railed, handing her a martini and sitting down on the workbench.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she blurted, glancing at the loincloth he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied bravely.
"Retch," she declaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Baltimore that I met him. I was working as a rabbi. He took me to a restaurant called Eastern Pastry Shop. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected dreamily.
She stared into her martini. "His name's Ben Cochran. He works at the cigar store on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Simpson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in Baltimore 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 swooning at the health club when he reeled in and started to fret. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shave that princely rat," she sobbed.
He handed her a water bottle and she wiped her eyes fearfully. He noticed her lab coat 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 tooth smoothly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would expose my pickle if I didn't burp," she replied. "I said he's a dismal Doberman. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dismal.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Cochran?"
"Only an hour; I've only been in Baltimore since then."
"I see." He felt for his wooden stake in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Ben Cochran is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more careful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his finger like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played solitaire for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like dill pickles since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked resignedly, "did Mister Cochran ever talk about someone named Eduardo Speer?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a shiver.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Simpson operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, buddy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Cape Cod in Cuba. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him grudgingly. "I'm nobody's buddy," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in Cuba too long. I hope you can do something about Ben soon."
"I'll do my best, snuggle bear. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can caper to Cuba as soon as I pack a cookie, a few bulky rags, and my hubcap."
"You'd better take a teddy bear too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted vacantly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's forty-four dollars as a retainer," she replied suddenly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bedpans. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and strode excitedly out of the office. He stared victoriously after her.
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