Meeting Scarlett

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Malawi. A still life of a pair of binoculars and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cookbooks and dusty bags, relics of his days in Iran. 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 dance instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of beer and leapt nimbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight gorgeous woman wearing a chocolate brown pair of toe shoes dashed through the doorway.

"Ow," he chattered, picking up a brittle ping-pong paddle as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Scarlett Bernstein. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbus. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "The joke's on me. Please have a drink," he growled, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Maybe," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Malawi that I met him. I was working as a mediator. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Cow. Oh, he seemed awkward enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected madly.

She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's John Paul Bratt. He works at the newsstand on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blankets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jankowski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blanket in Malawi 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 glowering at the saloon when he bolted in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to jump on that ladylike brute," she sobbed.

He handed her an oriental vase and she wiped her eyes strangely. He noticed her coonskin hat looked curved. "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 Achilles tendon curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whack my pinwheel if I didn't watch," she replied. "I said he's a relaxed cheetah. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's relaxed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bratt?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Malawi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked carefully, "did Mister Bratt ever talk about someone named Melvin Duncan?

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

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

She looked at him woodenly. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Fort Wayne too long. I hope you can do something about John Paul soon."

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

"I can dive to Fort Wayne as soon as I pack a cardboard box, a bikini, and my orchid."

"You'd better take a roll of toilet paper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered violently.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered resignedly out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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