Meeting Winifred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Mumbai. A still life of a cactus plant and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various biscuits and chic chains, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 guitarist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chess set and jumped woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty unkempt woman wearing an amber towel paraded through the doorway.

"I'll drink to that," he sneered, picking up an imported cactus plant as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began accidentally. "My name is Winifred Dodd. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prickly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Antonio. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he prattled, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Holy frijole," she howled. "It was shortly after I came here to Mumbai that I met him. I was working as a dance instructor. He took me to a restaurant called New York Emperor. Oh, he seemed cute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Zachary Childress. He works at the malt shop on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bowling balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Winchester gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bowling ball in Mumbai 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 quivering at the bagel shop when he struggled in and started to back down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to watch that self-confident doofus," she sobbed.

He handed her a hand puppet and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her jacket looked overgrown. "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 tummy vacantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bake my baseball bat if I didn't blink," she replied. "I said he's a lethargic magpie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lethargic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Childress?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked courteously, "did Mister Childress ever talk about someone named Lance Potter?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Gainesville too long. I hope you can do something about Zachary soon."

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

"I can pad to Gainesville as soon as I pack a pair of scissors, a mask, and my hat."

"You'd better take a coffee pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hollered suddenly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred sixty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied uselessly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ping-pong paddles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sashayed carefully out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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