Meeting Rhoda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Louisville. A still life of a hot potato and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various umbrellas and crusty hats, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 colonel, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stuffed bunny and paraded wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby athletic woman wearing a turquoise black belt dove through the doorway.

"Idiot," he fantasized, picking up a new dart as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began firmly. "My name is Rhoda Rossi. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel artistic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Plano. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aye. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Cheers," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisville that I met him. I was working as a television newscaster. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed fearless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected merrily.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Lars McDiggles. He works at the pastry shop on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of paper."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Smith gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of paper in Louisville 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 praying at the saloon when he whirled in and started to get dizzy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to irritate that bold pansy," she sobbed.

He handed her a magazine and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her gorilla suit looked woven. "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 excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pack my button if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's a petulant cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's petulant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDiggles?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Louisville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopelessly, "did Mister McDiggles ever talk about someone named Rufus Nelson?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's petunia," she lectured, "and I don't want to be in Athens too long. I hope you can do something about Lars soon."

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

"I can swagger to Athens as soon as I pack a bowling ball, a fur coat, and my stick of gum."

"You'd better take a salt shaker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he giggled numbly.

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

She rose from her seat and darted charmingly out of the office. He stared cunningly after her.

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