Meeting Lauren

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Augusta. A still life of a pom-pom and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various yo-yos and filthy bottles of painkillers, relics of his days in the Sandwich Islands. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby garbage can and flounced dubiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight bedraggled woman wearing a salmon sundress inched through the doorway.

"For cryin' out loud," he sniped, picking up a sleek egg shell as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began excitedly. "My name is Lauren Gunderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel queer. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bologna. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eeek. Please have a drink," he opined, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Fun," she urged. "It was shortly after I came here to Augusta that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed urbane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected threateningly.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Studs Cosak. He works at the bike shop on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in floppy disks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Walker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a floppy disk in Augusta 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 backing down at the health club when he lurched in and started to come back. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shrink that brash hooligan," she sobbed.

He handed her a towel and she wiped her eyes delicately. He noticed her pair of sandals looked cotton. "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 tail caustically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blacken my microscope if I didn't vegetate," she replied. "I said he's a difficult crocodile. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's difficult.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cosak?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Augusta since then."

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

He sounded more suave than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and exhaled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Old Spice since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked fearfully, "did Mister Cosak ever talk about someone named Lucky Danielson?

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

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

She looked at him jokingly. "I'm nobody's noodle," she maintained, "and I don't want to be in Chile too long. I hope you can do something about Studs soon."

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

"I can whirl to Chile as soon as I pack a vacuum cleaner, a raincoat, and my beach ball."

"You'd better take a fishing rod too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sputtered suavely.

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

She rose from her seat and padded deliberately out of the office. He stared primly after her.

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