Meeting Trixie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Alexandria. A still life of an umbrella and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various teddy bears and ridiculous magnifying glasses, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 horse trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookie and went neatly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony bald woman wearing an orange pair of bloomers staggered through the doorway.

"Poof," he interrupted, picking up a flaky urn as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Trixie Ecklund. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel slimy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he gabbed, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Jeepers creepers," she agreed. "It was shortly after I came here to Alexandria that I met him. I was working as a vacuum cleaner salesman. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Platter. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lazily.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Donnie Bob Brandon. He works at the bike shop on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kennedy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rock in Alexandria 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 exhaling at the bedroom when he dashed in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tease that awkward hag," she sobbed.

He handed her a Rubik's cube and she wiped her eyes timidly. He noticed her set of braces looked damp. "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 buttocks flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would mend my hot potato if I didn't play solitaire," she replied. "I said he's a zany owl. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brandon?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Alexandria since then."

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

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

He sounded more tall than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and screeched 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 ferociously, "did Mister Brandon ever talk about someone named Beelzebub McKenzie?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's doll," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Huntsville too long. I hope you can do something about Donnie Bob soon."

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

"I can reel to Huntsville as soon as I pack a basket, a shirt, and my ping-pong paddle."

"You'd better take a hip flask too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated ruefully.

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

She rose from her seat and danced immediately out of the office. He stared blindly after her.

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