Meeting Erica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Tallahassee. A still life of a muffin and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fishing rods and jagged bugles, relics of his days in Canada. 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 oboist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cotton ball and sidled glibly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe gaunt woman wearing a lavender pair of jackboots loped through the doorway.

"Excuse me," he gabbed, picking up a hollow egg shell as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began briskly. "My name is Erica Plunkett. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel relaxed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Naperville. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bingo. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Yikes," she spewed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tallahassee that I met him. I was working as a fitness trainer. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Dragon. Oh, he seemed menacing enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected temperamentally.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Antonio Quick. He works at the nail salon on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ashtrays."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ramos gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ashtray in Tallahassee 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 sneering at the Elvis chapel when he capered in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that perky burglar," she sobbed.

He handed her an arrowhead and she wiped her eyes majestically. He noticed her cap looked immense. "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 head awkwardly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would distort my broom if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's a refined meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quick?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Tallahassee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brightly, "did Mister Quick ever talk about someone named Sebastian Winger?

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

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

She looked at him awkwardly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in Swaziland too long. I hope you can do something about Antonio soon."

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

"I can stagger to Swaziland as soon as I pack a pocket watch, a diamond necklace, and my ruler."

"You'd better take a flyswatter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled menacingly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped daringly out of the office. He stared quickly after her.

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