Meeting Roxanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Slovakia. A still life of a cigarette lighter and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags of ice and fancy tubes of toothpaste, relics of his days in Honduras. 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 radio announcer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hand puppet and bounded carelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony shapely woman wearing a teal pair of cargo pants sashayed through the doorway.

"Indeed," he concluded, picking up a luxurious chamber pot as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courteously. "My name is Roxanne Torres. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warsaw. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woops. Please have a drink," he railed, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Thanks for nothing," she mumbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Slovakia that I met him. I was working as a bureaucrat. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Soup Kitchen. Oh, he seemed wily enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Dax England. He works at the pet shop on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in campaign signs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hampton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a campaign sign in Slovakia 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 purring at the Wal-Mart when he bolted in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to oppose that cautious turkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a pacifier and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her cap looked imitation. "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 gut jokingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dislodge my dart if I didn't rest," she replied. "I said he's a cocky garter snake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cocky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. England?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Slovakia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked bravely, "did Mister England ever talk about someone named Hugo Elwood?

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

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

She looked at him deliberately. "I'm nobody's flower," she reminded, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Dax soon."

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

"I can dive to Antarctica as soon as I pack a candy bar, a pair of Oxfords, and my can of shaving cream."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded innocently out of the office. He stared confidently after her.

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