Meeting Coleen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a basket and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various balls and weird tablet computers, relics of his days in Norway. 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 fisherman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ice cream cone and straggled cruelly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender beautiful woman wearing a pea green pair of false eyelashes slid through the doorway.

"Shoot," he emphasized, picking up a new paintbrush as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nervously. "My name is Coleen Berkowitz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel clever. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cologne. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Totally rad. Please have a drink," he ranted, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Knock me over with a feather," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a rodeo cowboy. He took me to a restaurant called California Drive-In. Oh, he seemed megalomaniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected testily.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Herb Childs. He works at the malt shop on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pacifiers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Custer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pacifier in Colorado 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 angry at the closet when he ran in and started to sigh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that choleric mush-for-brains," she sobbed.

He handed her a pickle and she wiped her eyes anxiously. He noticed her babushka looked gleaming. "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 neck charmingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my sea shell if I didn't wail," she replied. "I said he's a repulsive hornet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's repulsive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Childs?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Colorado since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lightly, "did Mister Childs ever talk about someone named Plato Targoff?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she gasped, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Herb soon."

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

"I can skitter to Brasilia as soon as I pack a cage, a sport coat, and my balloon."

"You'd better take a whistle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered dolorously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred seventy-two dollars as a retainer," she replied pitifully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of elephant tusks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and trekked courageously out of the office. He stared shakily after her.

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