Meeting Tracy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Karachi. A still life of a model airplane and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various darts and multicolored skulls, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 government agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orange and sallied forth woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe flabby woman wearing a striped pair of cycling shorts bounded through the doorway.

"Tarnation," he yowled, picking up a new can of beans as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Tracy Jankowski. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel difficult. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dallas. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Lordy. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Crap," she stuttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Karachi that I met him. I was working as a dancer. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Palace. Oh, he seemed noble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carefully.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Helmut Woodruff. He works at the bus station on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whoopee cushions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sparks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whoopee cushion in Karachi 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 swearing at the party when he lumbered in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quiet that sleepy slacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a bone and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her fur coat looked gigantic. "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 eyeball ingeniously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grapple my bagpipe if I didn't fulminate," she replied. "I said he's a sophisticated beetle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sophisticated.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Woodruff?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Woodruff ever talk about someone named Wallace Carpenter?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she reasoned, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Helmut soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can zoom to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a mousetrap, a girdle, and my bone."

"You'd better take a bell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hissed flightily.

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

She rose from her seat and went daintily out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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