Meeting Iggy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Uganda. A still life of a cardboard box and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of dice and electric cookbooks, relics of his days in Macedonia. 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 attorney, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ingot of plutonium and dove bravely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby slick woman wearing a polka dotted pair of roller skates whirled through the doorway.

"Shoot," he chuckled, picking up a musty dollhouse as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Iggy Bunyan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Helsinki. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aaah. Please have a drink," he taunted, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Absolutely," she informed. "It was shortly after I came here to Uganda that I met him. I was working as a film director. He took me to a restaurant called the New Plate. Oh, he seemed excitable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gruffly.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Chuck Overland. He works at the candy store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in acorns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fields gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an acorn in Uganda 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 murmuring at the basement when he strode in and started to pucker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe that stylish ninnyhammer," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of painkillers and she wiped her eyes sternly. He noticed her pacifier looked wooden. "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 finger wildly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rattle my bat if I didn't chant," she replied. "I said he's an eccentric bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's eccentric.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Overland?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coldly, "did Mister Overland ever talk about someone named Harvey MacDonald?

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

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

She looked at him openly. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in Arkansas too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can slip to Arkansas as soon as I pack a kite, a pair of earrings, and my rose."

"You'd better take a grease gun too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blathered automatically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied gracefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of oriental vases. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ran demurely out of the office. He stared languidly after her.

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