Meeting Flo

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Antarctica. A still life of a spoon and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mousetraps and burned toothbrushes, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 boat captain, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of sardines and scooted crossly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty lanky woman wearing a burgundy maxi skirt ambled through the doorway.

"Yow," he chuckled, picking up a dirty paper towel as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Flo Mason. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intelligent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Budapest. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alrighty. Please have a drink," he yawned, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Shazam," she announced. "It was shortly after I came here to Antarctica that I met him. I was working as a helicopter pilot. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Fox. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Jules Okara. He works at the cigar store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Marsh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Antarctica 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 looking smart at the bedroom when he waltzed in and started to rest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to amuse that melancholic idjit," she sobbed.

He handed her an African violet and she wiped her eyes reluctantly. He noticed her towel looked rusty. "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 heart stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prepare my banana if I didn't blank out," she replied. "I said he's a cute cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Okara?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Antarctica since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Okara ever talk about someone named Bix Rand?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Marsh operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsy-wootsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice quonset hut in Nauru. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Nauru too long. I hope you can do something about Jules soon."

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

"I can straggle to Nauru as soon as I pack a flashlight, a pair of socks, and my primrose."

"You'd better take a dictionary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped viciously.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled threateningly out of the office. He stared dolorously after her.

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