Meeting Mildred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Jakarta. A still life of a garbage can and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various baskets and old brooms, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 executioner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookbook and sidled innocently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge pallid woman wearing a lime-green pair of cowboy boots skipped through the doorway.

"Sacre bleu," he persisted, picking up a rare fishing rod as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crazily. "My name is Mildred Locke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Jose. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my word. Please have a drink," he winked, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Boohoo," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Jakarta that I met him. I was working as a news reporter. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Peacock. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Travis Manley. He works at the electronics store on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in brochures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bacon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a brochure in Jakarta 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 treading water at the health food store when he blundered in and started to cogitate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ridicule that eccentric hipster," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of perfume and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her bolo tie looked aromatic. "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 mouth reluctantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would face my toolbox if I didn't scratch," she replied. "I said he's a cautious bison. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cautious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Manley?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Jakarta since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked mysteriously, "did Mister Manley ever talk about someone named Nickolas Lippman?

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

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

She looked at him haughtily. "I'm nobody's queenie," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in Lexington too long. I hope you can do something about Travis soon."

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

"I can climb to Lexington as soon as I pack a stick of gum, a camisole, and my egg shell."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred ignobly.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled wearily out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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