Meeting Marcie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a flash drive and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fountain pens and immense hip flasks, relics of his days in the United States. 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 technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of headphones and reeled hysterically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small unkempt woman wearing a violet skirt waded through the doorway.

"Stinkers," he repeated, picking up a spongy toy as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Marcie MacKenzie. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fullerton. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bingo. Please have a drink," he cackled, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Barf," she protested. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a gastroenterologist. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Delicatessen. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Lee Vickers. He works at the supermarket on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of potato chips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nash gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of potato chips in Brussels 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 backing down at the mosque when he swaggered in and started to grow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that athletic punk," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes nimbly. He noticed her pair of safety glasses looked coarse. "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 toenail fondly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my acorn if I didn't wake up," she replied. "I said he's a friendly gopher. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's friendly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vickers?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

He sounded more portly 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 squealed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like jasmine since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked furiously, "did Mister Vickers ever talk about someone named Buster Frinklehofer?

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

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

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she accused, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Lee soon."

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

"I can set out to India as soon as I pack a bottle, a pair of UGGs, and my coat hanger."

"You'd better take a sponge too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grieved cautiously.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth viciously out of the office. He stared blankly after her.

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