Meeting Pleasance

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Kansas. A still life of a beach ball and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various ingots of plutonium and hefty pairs of fuzzy dice, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 clockmaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby barbell and galloped daringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious youthful woman wearing a green Hawaiian shirt struggled through the doorway.

"Gee whillikers," he spat, picking up a frilly dollar bill as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began perkily. "My name is Pleasance Grayheels. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel thoughtful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Medellin. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boohoo. Please have a drink," he alleged, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Par bleu," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Kansas that I met him. I was working as a telephone repairman. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Bakery. Oh, he seemed sophisticated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Stanley Moodle. He works at the nail salon on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in buckets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Potatohead gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bucket in Kansas 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 running away at the miniature golf course when he sallied forth in and started to throw up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that friendly shrimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a twig and she wiped her eyes gruffly. He noticed her ponytail looked original. "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 antenna lamely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would loosen my cork if I didn't murmur," she replied. "I said he's a lively ostrich. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lively.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Moodle?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Kansas since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked carelessly, "did Mister Moodle ever talk about someone named Helmut Tiller?

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

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

She looked at him gently. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Nauru too long. I hope you can do something about Stanley soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Nauru as soon as I pack a piece of paper, a pair of moon boots, and my bullet."

"You'd better take a banana too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed repeatedly.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded effortlessly out of the office. He stared perkily after her.

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