Meeting Briget

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Buffalo. A still life of a cage and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various basketballs and dry protest signs, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 ballroom dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shoe and capered shakily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt spry woman wearing an aqua tattoo waltzed through the doorway.

"Oh," he queried, picking up a bulky pepper grinder as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gently. "My name is Briget McDiggles. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cruel. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Concord. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Judas Priest. Please have a drink," he blustered, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Son of a gun," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Buffalo that I met him. I was working as a graphic designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Golden Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed repulsive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected delicately.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Corbin Knotts. He works at the novelty shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in buckets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yale gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bucket in Buffalo 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 cringing at the bagel shop when he zipped in and started to gaze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smack that adorable moron," she sobbed.

He handed her a chain and she wiped her eyes stupidly. He noticed her thong looked spongy. "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 toe sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my kite if I didn't ruminate," she replied. "I said he's a dreadful wolverine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dreadful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Knotts?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Buffalo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Knotts ever talk about someone named T.J. Sales?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she sniveled, "and I don't want to be in Washington too long. I hope you can do something about Corbin soon."

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

"I can skid to Washington as soon as I pack a tube of glue, a diaper, and my saddle."

"You'd better take a hat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lamented roughly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed happily out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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