Meeting Penelope

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in England. A still life of a pacifier and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pop bottles and ancient lollipops, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 third grade teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby umbrella and sashayed recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall Asian woman wearing an amber hoodie jumped through the doorway.

"Beshrew me," he croaked, picking up a burned protest sign as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Penelope Vaniman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel arrogant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Stockholm. Her nose made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Behold. Please have a drink," he sniveled, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Fie," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to England that I met him. I was working as a rodeo clown. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Taqueria. Oh, he seemed lively enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Gabe Salazar. He works at the beauty salon on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in egg shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bronner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an egg shell in England 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 purring at the radio station when he crawled in and started to pant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to investigate that rapacious snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a battery and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her pair of pajamas looked sophisticated. "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 little toe recklessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ignore my paperclip if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a cheerful bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cheerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Salazar?"

"Only a day; I've only been in England since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Salazar ever talk about someone named Beelzebub Nagy?

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

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

She looked at him grudgingly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Burbank too long. I hope you can do something about Gabe soon."

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

"I can zoom to Burbank as soon as I pack a fossil, a turtleneck, and my playing card."

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

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded coldly out of the office. He stared cleverly after her.

Next Chapter