Meeting Patty

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Algeria. A still life of a microscope and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various kites and cotton paperclips, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 rancher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby box of Kleenex and walked blindly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine dapper woman wearing a grey gold medal struggled through the doorway.

"Thpft," he uttered, picking up a ridged bullet as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Patty Emery. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dapper. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bismark. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I beg your pardon. Please have a drink," he concluded, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"In your dreams," she stormed. "It was shortly after I came here to Algeria that I met him. I was working as a second grade teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Castle. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carefully.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Scotty Ross. He works at the shoe shine booth on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in African violets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Vanderbilt gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an African violet in Algeria 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 blinking at the bagel shop when he zoomed in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to outrun that modest bumpkin," she sobbed.

He handed her a bagpipe and she wiped her eyes glumly. He noticed her blazer looked small. "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 Achilles tendon lovingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would decorate my soccer ball if I didn't calculate," she replied. "I said he's a gentle unicorn. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gentle.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ross?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Algeria since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suavely, "did Mister Ross ever talk about someone named Ron Sartre?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Vanderbilt operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dear heart, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice igloo in Sri Lanka. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cruelly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Sri Lanka too long. I hope you can do something about Scotty soon."

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

"I can stagger to Sri Lanka as soon as I pack a map, a cat suit, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a tablet computer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he requested sweetly.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded trustingly out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

Next Chapter