Meeting Drew
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought craftily. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling coloring books door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Peru. A still life of a hip flask and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various pieces of paper and rough business cards, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 philosopher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pain pill and danced suspiciously toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a stout ruddy woman wearing a golden baseball cap clambered through the doorway.
"Fine," he provoked, picking up a woven carrot as he slunk to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Drew Johnson. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel enraged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Trenton. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "There-there. Please have a drink," he cried, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the sofa.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she moaned, glancing at the ponytail he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied timidly.
"Really," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Peru that I met him. I was working as a drunkard. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Saloon. Oh, he seemed eccentric enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected rapidly.
She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Lucky Beasley. He works at the coffee shop on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in plaques."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oldfather gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a plaque in Peru 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the mall when he lumbered in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that lazy cretin," she sobbed.
He handed her a fish and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her tie looked modern. "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 vein nonchalantly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would extinguish my stapler if I didn't hang around," she replied. "I said he's a tense grizzly bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tense.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Beasley?"
"Only an hour; I've only been in Peru since then."
"I see." He felt for his wrench in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Lucky Beasley is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more loving than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his skin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and stared for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like pizza since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked merrily, "did Mister Beasley ever talk about someone named Cody Clapper?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a flush.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Oldfather operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, beefcake, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice duplex in Spain. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's beefcake," she mused, "and I don't want to be in Spain too long. I hope you can do something about Lucky soon."
"I'll do my best, kitten. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can zip to Spain as soon as I pack a muffin, a wet suit, and my knitting needle."
"You'd better take a cigar too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he instructed needlessly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred forty dollars as a retainer," she replied crazily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of piggy banks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and slumped reluctantly out of the office. He stared stupidly after her.
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