Meeting Kaylee

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Glendale. A still life of a handkerchief and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bowls and odd campaign signs, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 priest, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and whirled warily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous nervous woman wearing a brown tinfoil hat tore through the doorway.

"Shoot," he acknowledged, picking up a synthetic candy bar as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began despondently. "My name is Kaylee Austin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel taciturn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Newark. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nonsense. Please have a drink," he laughed, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Woops," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Glendale that I met him. I was working as a physicist. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Goose. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected reluctantly.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Henry Parsons. He works at the perfumery on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pictures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Abbey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a picture in Glendale 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 turning blue at the ski slope when he staggered in and started to scream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to jab that serious knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a tote bag and she wiped her eyes blindly. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked thick. "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 larynx slyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would chisel my bicycle if I didn't giggle," she replied. "I said he's a serious panther. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's serious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Parsons?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Parsons ever talk about someone named Derek Popper?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she shouted, "and I don't want to be in Toledo too long. I hope you can do something about Henry soon."

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

"I can reel to Toledo as soon as I pack a notebook, a cardigan, and my wastebasket."

"You'd better take a clam too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chanted jokingly.

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

She rose from her seat and padded grimly out of the office. He stared languidly after her.

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