Meeting Monica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Rhode Island. A still life of a vacuum cleaner and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various boxes and nifty diagrams, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 hubcap and waltzed openly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth sprightly woman wearing a hot pink parka galumphed through the doorway.

"Wahoo," he chimed, picking up a puzzling dollhouse as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cheerfully. "My name is Monica Weatherford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel menacing. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "As if. Please have a drink," he boasted, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Thunderation," she implored. "It was shortly after I came here to Rhode Island that I met him. I was working as a hobo. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Holiday. Oh, he seemed dowdy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected admiringly.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Horsie Dingwell. He works at the tobacco shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cell phones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Osborne gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cell phone in Rhode Island 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 gasping at the disco when he ambled in and started to pant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hug that emotional fink," she sobbed.

He handed her a Rubik's cube and she wiped her eyes coolly. He noticed her hoodie looked weird. "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 jaw strictly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would burn my hubcap if I didn't burp," she replied. "I said he's a forgetful hawk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's forgetful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dingwell?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Rhode Island since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked thoughtfully, "did Mister Dingwell ever talk about someone named Luther Pryor?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's old bean," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in Croatia too long. I hope you can do something about Horsie soon."

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

"I can lurch to Croatia as soon as I pack a pop bottle, a pair of bloomers, and my dog collar."

"You'd better take a chess set too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chimed blissfully.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed silently out of the office. He stared unexpectedly after her.

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