Meeting Babs

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Chile. A still life of a cream puff and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various radios and crooked billiard balls, relics of his days in India. 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 fortune teller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pumpkin and skipped accidentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump youthful woman wearing a teal hearing aid galumphed through the doorway.

"Ahem," he bragged, picking up a mysterious teapot as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began effortlessly. "My name is Babs Shelby. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Torrance. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meow. Please have a drink," he panted, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Hello," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to Chile that I met him. I was working as a handyman. He took me to a restaurant called European Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed colorless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected reluctantly.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Louie Eastwood. He works at the used car lot on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shovels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rush gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shovel in Chile 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 throwing up at the mall when he marched in and started to apologize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to rebuff that bald curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a joint and she wiped her eyes ruefully. He noticed her scarf looked ornate. "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 gall bladder haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would paint my cane if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a polite quail. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's polite.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eastwood?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Chile 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 Louie Eastwood is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked deftly, "did Mister Eastwood ever talk about someone named Beauford Novak?

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

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in Boise too long. I hope you can do something about Louie soon."

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

"I can trot to Boise as soon as I pack a hip flask, a beehive, and my amulet."

"You'd better take a stick of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shuddered noisily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred seventy-six dollars as a retainer," she replied properly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of paper clips. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waltzed bravely out of the office. He stared gingerly after her.

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