Meeting Trixie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a fountain pen and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various soccer balls and small tablet computers, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 web guru, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby calculator and slipped clumsily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth good looking woman wearing a golden hearing aid hopped through the doorway.

"Omigosh," he chattered, picking up a greasy toy as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began repeatedly. "My name is Trixie Major. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Please. Please have a drink," he wept, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Uh-oh," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a telephone repairman. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Serpent. Oh, he seemed beautiful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Drover Green. He works at the café on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pink flamingoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Potatohead gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pink flamingo in Tijuana 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 weeping at the synagogue when he skidded in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that smart scalawag," she sobbed.

He handed her an iPad and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her babushka looked stolen. "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 dignity deftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would label my flower if I didn't sneeze," she replied. "I said he's a powerful horse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Green?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Tijuana since then."

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

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

He sounded more witty than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little finger like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and blew up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a swimming pool since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked menacingly, "did Mister Green ever talk about someone named Giovanni Frankowitz?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him angrily. "I'm nobody's precious," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in Berlin too long. I hope you can do something about Drover soon."

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

"I can clamber to Berlin as soon as I pack a cookbook, a pair of dentures, and my flower."

"You'd better take a vase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered patiently.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced fervently out of the office. He stared frantically after her.

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