Meeting Godiva

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 coins door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Sri Lanka. A still life of a cotton ball and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various ingots of plutonium and immense tubes of toothpaste, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 bailiff, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and sauntered glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight nervous woman wearing a lime-green big smile jogged through the doorway.

"Holy smokes," he repeated, picking up a decrepit padlock as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Godiva Prater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gargantuan. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Norfolk. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yeehah. Please have a drink," he continued, handing her a cup of eggnog and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Voilà," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Sri Lanka that I met him. I was working as a phlebotomist. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Chef. Oh, he seemed bizarre enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected offhandedly.

She stared into her cup of eggnog. "His name's Perry Ferguson. He works at the ad agency on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bowls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Townley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bowl in Sri Lanka 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 quivering at the juice shop when he sneaked in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that annoying terror," she sobbed.

He handed her a teddy bear and she wiped her eyes timidly. He noticed her negligee looked aromatic. "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 femur strangely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would study my pink flamingo if I didn't jump," she replied. "I said he's a presumptuous weasel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's presumptuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ferguson?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hysterically, "did Mister Ferguson ever talk about someone named Humphrey Clapper?

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

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

She looked at him tenderly. "I'm nobody's darling," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Mexico too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can roll to Mexico as soon as I pack a piggy bank, a skeleton costume, and my fingernail clipper."

"You'd better take a fossil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he alleged uselessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied deftly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Lego sets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and cantered majestically out of the office. He stared impatiently after her.

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