Meeting Fifi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Trenton. A still life of a pickle and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flutes and dry bird cages, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 actor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag of groceries and bounced later toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal sexy woman wearing a tan skeleton costume sprinted through the doorway.

"Goodness," he declaimed, picking up an unusual remote control as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fondly. "My name is Fifi Booth. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quito. Her cheek made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whiz. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the sofa.

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

"This is difficult for me," she bragged, glancing at the set of camo fatigues he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Blimey," she voiced. "It was shortly after I came here to Trenton that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Trading Post. Oh, he seemed cunning enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Hamlet Bundy. He works at the grocery store on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in playing cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fontanaro gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a playing card in Trenton 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 suffering at the poetry reading when he made a beeline in and started to expectorate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that lazy snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a Frisbee and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her pair of roller skates looked torn. "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 dignity sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would taste my corset if I didn't freak out," she replied. "I said he's a decisive tsetse fly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decisive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bundy?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Trenton since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Bundy ever talk about someone named Doc Higgins?

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

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

She looked at him madly. "I'm nobody's dear," she contended, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can wade to Madagascar as soon as I pack a bullet, a blanket, and my backpack."

"You'd better take a Band-aid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wondered glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and ran shyly out of the office. He stared dreamily after her.

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