Meeting Marilyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Cape Town. A still life of a saddle and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of candy and petite watering cans, relics of his days in the Sandwich Islands. 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 coroner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chart and galumphed pitifully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump large woman wearing a peach turtleneck slithered through the doorway.

"Big whoop," he requested, picking up a big pom-pom as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Marilyn Xi. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel petulant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sweet. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Voilà," she sneered. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Town that I met him. I was working as a postmaster. He took me to a restaurant called the New Express. Oh, he seemed happy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Walt Queens. He works at the malt shop on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fishhooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fodor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fishhook in Cape Town 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 buzzing at the Wal-Mart when he straggled in and started to slobber. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to greet that generous vile viper," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper bag and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her bolo tie looked ordinary. "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 pinky warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rotate my tennis racket if I didn't mumble," she replied. "I said he's a generous ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's generous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Queens?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Cape Town since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uselessly, "did Mister Queens ever talk about someone named Aiden Sparks?

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

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

She looked at him gracefully. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in Huntsville too long. I hope you can do something about Walt soon."

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

"I can dart to Huntsville as soon as I pack a telephone, a pair of heels, and my accordion."

"You'd better take a pair of fuzzy dice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he argued gingerly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered vigorously out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

Next Chapter