Meeting Emily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Malaysia. A still life of a fishing rod and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coloring books and handy suitcases, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 football player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby artificial flower and sashayed crankily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous sexy woman wearing an orange sarong stalked through the doorway.

"Far out, man," he whimpered, picking up a fabulous sack as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Emily Simon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stinky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Augusta. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My word. Please have a drink," he sniped, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Blecch," she quoted. "It was shortly after I came here to Malaysia that I met him. I was working as a nomadic sheepherder. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Chicken. Oh, he seemed sober enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suddenly.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Ace Wheeler. He works at the popcorn shop on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calculators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Agnew gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calculator in Malaysia 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 pausing at the spelling bee when he slumped in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to massage that absent-minded whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a chamber pot and she wiped her eyes solemnly. He noticed her bedsheet looked striking. "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 belly impatiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my cowbell if I didn't get sleepy," she replied. "I said he's an angry crow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's angry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wheeler?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Malaysia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crazily, "did Mister Wheeler ever talk about someone named Blake Messina?

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

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

She looked at him silently. "I'm nobody's radiant starlight," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in Dallas too long. I hope you can do something about Ace soon."

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

"I can slump to Dallas as soon as I pack a pigeon, an award medal, and my tablet computer."

"You'd better take a snail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined nervously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's six dollars as a retainer," she replied coldly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cardboard boxes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and scooted energetically out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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