Meeting Claudette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Libya. A still life of a coat check ticket and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various corks and well worn dolls, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 wedding planner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sea shell and dashed elatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty plain woman wearing a jade pair of sandals clambered through the doorway.

"Roger that," he spat, picking up a smooth rope as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began confidently. "My name is Claudette Klinger. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel exuberant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowie. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Ahh," she groveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Libya that I met him. I was working as a colonel. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Lion. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Johnny Grady. He works at the bookstore on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hubcaps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brock gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hubcap in Libya 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 bawling at the radio station when he straggled in and started to frown. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that direct bandicoot," she sobbed.

He handed her a peach and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her pair of knickerbockers looked odd. "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 tearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hit my diamond if I didn't faint," she replied. "I said he's a fuzzy burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fuzzy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grady?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Libya since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked caustically, "did Mister Grady ever talk about someone named Reynaldo Anderson?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Brock operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motor home in Long Beach. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Johnny soon."

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

"I can galumph to Long Beach as soon as I pack a fountain pen, a lab coat, and my spinning wheel."

"You'd better take a billiard ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he conversed sadly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied proudly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of egg shells. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and marched softly out of the office. He stared clumsily after her.

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