Meeting Emily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Alabama. A still life of a trash can and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of scissors and broken tubes of glue, relics of his days in Canada. 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 janitor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby remote control and bounded vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite attractive woman wearing a magenta cat suit bounced through the doorway.

"Duh," he giggled, picking up a polished handkerchief as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lamely. "My name is Emily Roe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel noble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Ana. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For the love of Pete. Please have a drink," he begged, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Of course," she proposed. "It was shortly after I came here to Alabama that I met him. I was working as a soldier. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Cloud. Oh, he seemed modest enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Lars Boudreaux. He works at the tobacco shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in daisies."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mainz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a daisy in Alabama 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 smiling at the gyro shop when he reeled in and started to play Farmer in the Dell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to operate on that irate eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a pacifier and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her pair of earmuffs looked gooey. "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 fingernail deftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whip my bowling ball if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a tense buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tense.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Boudreaux?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Boudreaux ever talk about someone named Jake Rebensdorf?

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

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

She looked at him softly. "I'm nobody's kitten," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Lars soon."

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

"I can bolt to Colorado as soon as I pack a watering can, a shirt, and my sword."

"You'd better take a bullet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he affirmed vacantly.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled obediently out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

Next Chapter