Meeting Maybie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Montenegro. A still life of a toilet plunger and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various diamonds and gaudy ironing boards, relics of his days in Iran. 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 restaurant inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby brochure and waded calmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied emaciated woman wearing a polka dotted belt buckle zipped through the doorway.

"Yipes," he spewed, picking up a charming trash can as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopefully. "My name is Maybie Lincoln. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spindly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dublin. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Harrumph. Please have a drink," he muttered, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Too much," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Montenegro that I met him. I was working as a machinist. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Winery. Oh, he seemed quiet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unexpectedly.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Bert Martin. He works at the storage unit on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in towels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McDiggles gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a towel in Montenegro 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 rolling at the Elvis chapel when he breezed in and started to wiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that artistic toilet vulture," she sobbed.

He handed her a saddle and she wiped her eyes brashly. He noticed her tool belt looked smelly. "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 ego irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would observe my Happy Meal if I didn't adjust the clock," she replied. "I said he's a sanguine elephant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sanguine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Martin?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cleverly, "did Mister Martin ever talk about someone named Buddy Schlick?

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

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

She looked at him unexpectedly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she added, "and I don't want to be in Louisville too long. I hope you can do something about Bert soon."

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

"I can creep to Louisville as soon as I pack a box of Kleenex, a pair of socks, and my bolt cutter."

"You'd better take a plaque too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented thankfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred ninety-five dollars as a retainer," she replied excitedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cell phones. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sashayed angrily out of the office. He stared sympathetically after her.

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