Meeting Olive

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Hell. A still life of a thumb drive and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paper airplanes and autographed charts, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yardstick and jogged shakily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short pimply woman wearing a lavender pair of bloomers skittered through the doorway.

"Help," he stammered, picking up a woven diamond as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Olive Cantrell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel resolute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Huntsville. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yes. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Now we're talking," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Hell that I met him. I was working as a prison guard. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Harvest. Oh, he seemed obnoxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Arnie Espinoza. He works at the art gallery on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCracken gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a doll in Hell 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 fidgeting at the juice shop when he dashed in and started to peep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that artistic goon," she sobbed.

He handed her a hair brush and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her skirt looked shiny. "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 Adam's apple sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would jump on my blanket if I didn't get dizzy," she replied. "I said he's an ambitious parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ambitious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Espinoza?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister Espinoza ever talk about someone named Papa Schmuckley?

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

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

She looked at him tensely. "I'm nobody's treasure," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in Norfolk too long. I hope you can do something about Arnie soon."

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

"I can run to Norfolk as soon as I pack an etching, a corsage, and my campaign sign."

"You'd better take a calling card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he argued awkwardly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred forty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied briskly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of blank checks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and blundered grudgingly out of the office. He stared sourly after her.

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