Meeting Holly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Malta. A still life of a baton and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various teddy bears and damaged tops, relics of his days in Norway. 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 prosecutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperclip and galloped slowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat attractive woman wearing a lime-green cat suit dove through the doorway.

"@#%#^@%$@!," he voiced, picking up a bent bag of ice as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began victoriously. "My name is Holly Salazar. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hairy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Buenos Aires. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pshaw. Please have a drink," he howled, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"I'm stoked," she spat. "It was shortly after I came here to Malta that I met him. I was working as a radio announcer. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Holiday. Oh, he seemed dependable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blankly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Steve White. He works at the library on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toilet seats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sawyer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toilet seat in Malta 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 puckering at the synagogue when he trekked in and started to back up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that direct slacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a Bible and she wiped her eyes brashly. He noticed her pair of jeans looked narrow. "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 waist sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wrap my towel if I didn't get frazzled," she replied. "I said he's an artistic caribou. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. White?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sweetly, "did Mister White ever talk about someone named Cosmo Pence?

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

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

She looked at him mysteriously. "I'm nobody's bunny," she pointed out, "and I don't want to be in Charlotte too long. I hope you can do something about Steve soon."

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

"I can dart to Charlotte as soon as I pack a peach, a set of scrubs, and my napkin."

"You'd better take a picture too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exploded uselessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred seventeen dollars as a retainer," she replied hopefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of stacks of papers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slumped steadily out of the office. He stared gleefully after her.

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