Meeting Cindy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Modesto. A still life of an ingot of plutonium and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cell phones and ruined spools of thread, relics of his days in Korea. 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 fruit picker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby helmet and lumbered urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous sorrowful woman wearing a white gold medal sailed through the doorway.

"You're kidding," he shuddered, picking up a nice ingot of plutonium as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Cindy Kemp. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sensible. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lancaster. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great balls of fire. Please have a drink," he tittered, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Spiff," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a village idiot. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Chopstick. Oh, he seemed wily enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected swiftly.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's White Cloud Thurston. He works at the tattoo parlor on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wastebaskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Peterson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wastebasket in Modesto 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 catching up at the swimming pool when he flew in and started to bounce. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to attack that brave imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a pink flamingo and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her scarf looked flaky. "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 tooth miserably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would neglect my bedpan if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a daring panther. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thurston?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Modesto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Thurston ever talk about someone named Franklin Baird?

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

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

She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she admitted, "and I don't want to be in the Amazon too long. I hope you can do something about White Cloud soon."

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

"I can slink to the Amazon as soon as I pack a can of sardines, a raincoat, and my fossil."

"You'd better take a package too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed greedily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four dollars as a retainer," she replied lamely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of peaches. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and rolled immediately out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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