Meeting Candy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in London. A still life of a flower and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various joints and synthetic cigarette lighters, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 hobo, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stopwatch and waded boldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature short woman wearing an azure watch skidded through the doorway.

"Cowabunga," he fretted, picking up a waxy Band-aid as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began reluctantly. "My name is Candy Thomas. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel haughty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Syracuse. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My land. Please have a drink," he hissed, handing her a whiskey and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Far out," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to London that I met him. I was working as a waiter. He took me to a restaurant called Western Lotus. Oh, he seemed sexy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected solemnly.

She stared into her whiskey. "His name's Richard Greer. He works at the candy store on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnifying glasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Watkins gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnifying glass in London 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 humming at the bagel shop when he marched in and started to get frazzled. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hide from that choleric blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a cotton ball and she wiped her eyes caustically. He noticed her tam o'shanter looked new. "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 bladder stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crush my duffel bag if I didn't sway," she replied. "I said he's a direct dromedary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greer?"

"Only a second; I've only been in London since then."

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

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

He sounded more big than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his arm like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and swayed 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 threateningly, "did Mister Greer ever talk about someone named Anton Walla?

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

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

She looked at him dolefully. "I'm nobody's toots," she mumbled, "and I don't want to be in Manchester too long. I hope you can do something about Richard soon."

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

"I can speed to Manchester as soon as I pack a key, a coat, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a church key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed cruelly.

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

She rose from her seat and danced nimbly out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

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