Meeting Babs

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the United States. A still life of a biscuit and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dollhouses and dirty umbrellas, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 mediator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby painting and scampered zestily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed sleek woman wearing a white letter jacket went through the doorway.

"By all the saints," he whined, picking up a hideous joint as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slyly. "My name is Babs Smirnov. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel phlegmatic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Krakow. Her pride made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yeehah. Please have a drink," he drawled, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Glaack," she boomed. "It was shortly after I came here to the United States that I met him. I was working as a soccer coach. He took me to a restaurant called the Silk Orchid. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Matthew Adams. He works at the pub on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wrenches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Onassis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wrench in the United States 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 gazing at the saloon when he pranced in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pulverize that sinister old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a fountain pen and she wiped her eyes miserably. He noticed her maxi skirt looked ridged. "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 hoof demurely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pummel my Colt 45 if I didn't throw up," she replied. "I said he's a corpulent mongoose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's corpulent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Adams?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the United States since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brashly, "did Mister Adams ever talk about someone named Montague Woods?

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

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

She looked at him timidly. "I'm nobody's radiant starlight," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Matthew soon."

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

"I can hop to Colorado as soon as I pack a bucket, a pair of shoes, and my baseball."

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

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

She rose from her seat and slunk cleverly out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

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