Meeting May

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of an accordion and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cameras and slimy cream puffs, relics of his days in Canada. 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 street artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby amulet and pranced effortlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious homely woman wearing a rose balaclava scampered through the doorway.

"Cripes," he blurted, picking up a jagged umbrella as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began elatedly. "My name is May Rebensdorf. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Detroit. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Harrumph. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Yoohoo," she growled. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as a professional dancer. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Fortress. Oh, he seemed urbane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected rapidly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Zack Jiménez. He works at the bar on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in keys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kraft gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key in Bolivia 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 grunting at the bowling alley when he breezed in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that wily worm," she sobbed.

He handed her a bell and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her tam o'shanter looked smelly. "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 piehole hopefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would paint my handkerchief if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a modest mare. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's modest.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jiménez?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Bolivia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hungrily, "did Mister Jiménez ever talk about someone named Gabe Plummer?

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

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

She looked at him sadly. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she declared, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Zack soon."

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

"I can wade to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a dog biscuit, a romper, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a dish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed arrogantly.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled joyously out of the office. He stared testily after her.

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