Meeting Priscilla

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 baby dolls door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Little Rock. A still life of a bird bath and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of scissors and electronic crutches, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 au pair, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby billfold and galloped nicely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe cadaverous woman wearing a jet black bulletproof vest jumped through the doorway.

"Uh," he uttered, picking up a fabulous artificial flower as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Priscilla Prince. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Roger. Please have a drink," he squeaked, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"I beg your pardon," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Little Rock that I met him. I was working as a gunsmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Wok. Oh, he seemed sleepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected smoothly.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Bronk Sinclair. He works at the candy store on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flash drives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barber gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flash drive in Little Rock 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 staring at the restaurant when he bounced in and started to rest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that awkward boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a clipboard and she wiped her eyes doubtfully. He noticed her smartwatch looked stuffed. "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 knuckle calmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inspect my padlock if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a haggard butterfly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's haggard.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sinclair?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Little Rock since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Sinclair ever talk about someone named George Novak?

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

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

She looked at him wildly. "I'm nobody's toots," she continued, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Bronk soon."

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

"I can jump to India as soon as I pack a Lego set, a pair of flip-flops, and my ping-pong paddle."

"You'd better take a cupcake too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered glumly.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped offhandedly out of the office. He stared happily after her.

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