Meeting Maureen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in New Orleans. A still life of a lollipop and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various beach balls and old yo-yos, relics of his days in India. 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 minister, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperclip and flounced testily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight lanky woman wearing a maroon bathrobe zoomed through the doorway.

"Blast," he explained, picking up a sleek pop bottle as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wildly. "My name is Maureen Carson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel generous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Well I'll be. Please have a drink," he contended, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Absolutely," she screeched. "It was shortly after I came here to New Orleans that I met him. I was working as a machinist. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Butcher. Oh, he seemed annoying enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Hamlet Corona. He works at the tobacco shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boomerangs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hanks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a boomerang in New Orleans 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 squealing at the city park when he tramped in and started to roll. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kiss that crafty old coot," she sobbed.

He handed her a Happy Meal and she wiped her eyes hopelessly. He noticed her pair of dungarees looked striking. "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 eyeball automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my Bunsen burner if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's a serious panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's serious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Corona?"

"Only a second; I've only been in New Orleans since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Corona ever talk about someone named Del Sledge?

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

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

She looked at him truculently. "I'm nobody's sweet," she protested, "and I don't want to be in Little Rock too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can trot to Little Rock as soon as I pack a Helmholz resonator, a coonskin hat, and my pencil."

"You'd better take a box of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chuckled despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and set out sourly out of the office. He stared thankfully after her.

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