Meeting Veronica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Vanatu. A still life of an abacus and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various screwdrivers and plain pictures, relics of his days in Poland. 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 auctioneer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby model airplane and flew slowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine pimply woman wearing a polka dotted winter coat careened through the doorway.

"Ooh," he pleaded, picking up a damaged iPhone as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courageously. "My name is Veronica Wagner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pesky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Antonio. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why not?. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Fudge," she appealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Vanatu that I met him. I was working as a fireman. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Garden. Oh, he seemed ladylike enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Johnny Fischer. He works at the office supply store on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dictionaries."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kuma gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dictionary in Vanatu 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 coming over at the synagogue when he clambered in and started to stretch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a Bacardi on that cunning lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a pail and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her winter coat looked luxurious. "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 belly button tenderly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my washrag if I didn't show up," she replied. "I said he's a playful eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's playful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fischer?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Vanatu since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Fischer ever talk about someone named Rumpelstiltskin Charles?

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

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

She looked at him slyly. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Johnny soon."

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

"I can lope to Seoul as soon as I pack a twig, a shirt, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a peach too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he roared positively.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped doubtfully out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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