Meeting Mopsy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lebanon. A still life of a calculator and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various playing cards and brittle bells, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 pawnbroker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crystal ball and tumbled obediently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated thin woman wearing a pink party hat jumped through the doorway.

"Great Caesar's ghost," he muttered, picking up a sleek mushroom as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began zestily. "My name is Mopsy Greybottom. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montgomery. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Say what. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the piano.

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

"This is difficult for me," she urged, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"LOL," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lebanon that I met him. I was working as an appliance repairman. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Galaxy. Oh, he seemed apoplectic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warily.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Derek Flanagan. He works at the cigar store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Matthews gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Lebanon 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 catching up at the pool hall when he swung in and started to faint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hypnotize that zany twerp," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of pliers and she wiped her eyes courteously. He noticed her pair of dentures looked handy. "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 ankle dolefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kill my shoe if I didn't fall asleep," she replied. "I said he's a crazy bumblebee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flanagan?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Lebanon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Flanagan ever talk about someone named Adam Shakewell?

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

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

She looked at him accidentally. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she sniped, "and I don't want to be in Pittsburgh too long. I hope you can do something about Derek soon."

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

"I can zoom to Pittsburgh as soon as I pack a diagram, a Stetson hat, and my fork."

"You'd better take a sponge too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented calmly.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded softly out of the office. He stared furiously after her.

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