Meeting Penny

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 microscopes door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Senegal. A still life of a cookie and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bird baths and original toothbrushes, relics of his days in Korea. 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 taxi driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby elephant tusk and rolled fondly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky emaciated woman wearing a striped pair of moon boots ambled through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he sniveled, picking up a fresh wet noodle as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began flightily. "My name is Penny Lewis. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greeley. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Easy peasy. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Holy buckets," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Senegal that I met him. I was working as an auctioneer. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Dinner. Oh, he seemed affable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Mac Zimmer. He works at the café on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperweights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperweight in Senegal 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 fidgeting at the tattoo parlor when he tramped in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to study that forgetful blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a coffee pot and she wiped her eyes unexpectedly. He noticed her Eton jacket looked delicate. "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 rib sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would plasticize my hubcap if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a masculine lamb. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's masculine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zimmer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pityingly, "did Mister Zimmer ever talk about someone named Carlton Cantrell?

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

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

She looked at him kindly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in Algeria too long. I hope you can do something about Mac soon."

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

"I can lope to Algeria as soon as I pack a bottle of perfume, a pair of panties, and my dollhouse."

"You'd better take a thumb drive too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and tore threateningly out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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