Meeting Fifi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Pennsylvania. A still life of a paperweight and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various saddles and heavy Big Gulps, relics of his days in Tibet. 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 FBI Agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing rod and barrelled valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard albino woman wearing a pea green tool belt loped through the doorway.

"Marvelous," he rationalized, picking up a sleek stink bomb as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Fifi Law. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel adorable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hell's bells. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Neato," she winked. "It was shortly after I came here to Pennsylvania that I met him. I was working as an innkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Fox. Oh, he seemed lethargic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected innocently.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Geoffrey Bear. He works at the pastry shop on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pain pills."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Popper gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pain pill in Pennsylvania 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 moaning at the closet when he skipped in and started to grimace. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that annoying shrew," she sobbed.

He handed her a camera and she wiped her eyes vigorously. He noticed her bridal gown looked soft. "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 waist shakily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reconsider my plaque if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's a sweet alligator. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sweet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bear?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Pennsylvania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Bear ever talk about someone named Xavier Bobbit?

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

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

She looked at him woefully. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she accused, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can sail to Brasilia as soon as I pack a crutch, a jumpsuit, and my piano."

"You'd better take a soccer ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he howled lovingly.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed slyly out of the office. He stared suspiciously after her.

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