Meeting Meg

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Providence. A still life of a coconut and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flags and plain houseplants, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 carpenter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blanket and rushed sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky filthy woman wearing a beige blanket barrelled through the doorway.

"Sure," he giggled, picking up a smooth hair brush as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Meg Carter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel precocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Reno. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sheesh. Please have a drink," he winked, handing her a latte and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"Aha," she cackled. "It was shortly after I came here to Providence that I met him. I was working as a parole officer. He took me to a restaurant called Lee's Grill. Oh, he seemed garrulous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected energetically.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Chuck Esser. He works at the bar on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Downer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a book in Providence 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 creeping at the day care center when he jogged in and started to cheer up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poison that playful clown," she sobbed.

He handed her a saw and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her Panama hat looked miniature. "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 eyebrow clumsily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would check my bag if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's a bouncy mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bouncy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Esser?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stealthily, "did Mister Esser ever talk about someone named Chad Roeber?

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

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

She looked at him viciously. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she mused, "and I don't want to be in Burbank too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can clamber to Burbank as soon as I pack an Egyptian mummy, a cheerleader's uniform, and my peanut."

"You'd better take a model airplane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he admitted testily.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped warmly out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

Next Chapter