Meeting Bretta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in New Haven. A still life of a tube of glue and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hip flasks and magnificent cell phones, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 lobbyist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and strode sadly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky small woman wearing a green corsage scurried through the doorway.

"Boy howdy," he mumbled, picking up a primitive magnifying glass as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began smoothly. "My name is Bretta Delgado. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bald. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bozeman. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Mother of peanut butter. Please have a drink," he screeched, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she bellowed, glancing at the pair of contact lenses he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Piffle," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to New Haven that I met him. I was working as an ice cream vendor. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Bell. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Nestor Case. He works at the pizza joint on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in suitcases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ansler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a suitcase in New Haven 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 grunting at the closet when he flew in and started to freak out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disparage that silly snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her a candle and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her garland looked rough. "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 chin noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would score my ice cream cone if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy baboon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Case?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in New Haven since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unexpectedly, "did Mister Case ever talk about someone named Mitch Crabtree?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ansler 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 travel trailer in Cincinnati. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's toots," she called, "and I don't want to be in Cincinnati too long. I hope you can do something about Nestor soon."

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

"I can go to Cincinnati as soon as I pack a crutch, a tie, and my rubber chicken."

"You'd better take an avocado too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he joked uneasily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eighty dollars as a retainer," she replied ferociously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of thumb drives. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and hopped blissfully out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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