Meeting Cindi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a mirror and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags of groceries and original cactus plants, relics of his days in Norway. 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 cab driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bell and trotted sharply toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender spindly woman wearing a pea green wet suit crawled through the doorway.

"Far out, man," he drawled, picking up a gooey box of candy as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unexpectedly. "My name is Cindi Fancypants. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel presumptuous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he spoke up, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Gawwwleeee," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a mason. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Wall. Oh, he seemed apoplectic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sheepishly.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Octavius Ansler. He works at the saloon on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bowls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dinklefloss gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bowl in Chattanooga 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 looking smart at the bedroom when he jogged in and started to preach. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that annoying gossip," she sobbed.

He handed her a comic book and she wiped her eyes lazily. He noticed her ponytail looked odd. "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 front tooth sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shorten my bag of popcorn if I didn't bleed," she replied. "I said he's a crafty reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crafty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ansler?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Chattanooga since then."

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

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

He sounded more depraved than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his nostril 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 Lancôme since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Ansler ever talk about someone named Lonnie Oswald?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Dinklefloss operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, light of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice skyscraper in the Marshall Islands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him glumly. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Octavius soon."

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

"I can go to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a toilet seat, a pair of heels, and my comic book."

"You'd better take a tennis racket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered crankily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred fifty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied brashly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Band-aids. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled brightly out of the office. He stared blindly after her.

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