Meeting Penelope

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Fort Wayne. A still life of a hubcap and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hip flasks and crisp balloons, relics of his days in Russia. 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 oboist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and sped valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied blushing woman wearing an amber tank top straggled through the doorway.

"At last," he said, picking up a nice stick as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began daintily. "My name is Penelope Sartre. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sophisticated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Savannah. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yay. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Gads," she expressed. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Wayne that I met him. I was working as a jockey. He took me to a restaurant called the City Cuisine. Oh, he seemed obedient enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Ronald DeGraff. He works at the convenience store on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in thumb drives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Welles gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a thumb drive in Fort Wayne 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 wiggling at the dance when he scooted in and started to raise an eyebrow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe that hairy stinker," she sobbed.

He handed her a toilet plunger and she wiped her eyes miserably. He noticed her gown looked large. "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 carotid artery gruffly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swipe my Barbie doll if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a fearless Chihuahua. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. DeGraff?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Fort Wayne since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked violently, "did Mister DeGraff ever talk about someone named Sanjay Plunkett?

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

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

She looked at him ruefully. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she rambled, "and I don't want to be in Cameroon too long. I hope you can do something about Ronald soon."

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

"I can zoom to Cameroon as soon as I pack a crate, a surgical mask, and my salt shaker."

"You'd better take a china doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored fervently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred fifteen dollars as a retainer," she replied cunningly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fish bowls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted elatedly out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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