Meeting Loretta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Green Bay. A still life of a bowl and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flags and crude peaches, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 gemcutter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rope and marched lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky haggard woman wearing a tan scarf loped through the doorway.

"The joke's on me," he opined, picking up a new football as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Loretta Ellis. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agitated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Green Bay. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Not so fast. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a milkshake and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

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

"Great," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Green Bay that I met him. I was working as a tutor. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Basket. Oh, he seemed crazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coolly.

She stared into her milkshake. "His name's Oliver Gore. He works at the library on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of sardines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jensen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of sardines in Green Bay 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 getting sleepy at the pool hall when he ambled in and started to flail. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to push that sarcastic ding dong," she sobbed.

He handed her a peach and she wiped her eyes glumly. He noticed her pair of gloves looked huge. "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 gruffly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would trim my coat check ticket if I didn't cry," she replied. "I said he's an urbane gila monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's urbane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gore?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Green Bay since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hastily, "did Mister Gore ever talk about someone named James Dotson?

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

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

She looked at him noisily. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she accused, "and I don't want to be in Paraguay too long. I hope you can do something about Oliver soon."

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

"I can swing to Paraguay as soon as I pack a notepad, a cloak, and my stack of papers."

"You'd better take a stick too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he moaned cruelly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred thirty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied blissfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of batteries. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waddled proudly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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