Meeting Tawny

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Glendale. A still life of a paperclip and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various telephones and porcelain forks, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 computer programmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and paraded trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed gangling woman wearing a maroon fig leaf capered through the doorway.

"Goodness me," he answered, picking up a loose crystal ball as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lightly. "My name is Tawny Stine. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prissy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Las Vegas. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jiminy crickets. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Avast," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Glendale that I met him. I was working as an upholsterer. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Papaya. Oh, he seemed refined enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Jack Minturn. He works at the train depot on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crutches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mitchell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a crutch in Glendale 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 squinting at the health food store when he galumphed in and started to type. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that childish rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog biscuit and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her belly button jewel 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 horn suddenly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scuff my remote control if I didn't bark," she replied. "I said he's an adorable honeybee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Minturn?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Glendale since then."

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

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

He sounded more rugged than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hand like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and spat 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 jokingly, "did Mister Minturn ever talk about someone named Nathaniel Baggins?

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

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

She looked at him languidly. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Jack soon."

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

"I can canter to Brasilia as soon as I pack a washrag, a watch, and my paperweight."

"You'd better take an air compressor too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he informed nicely.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled carefully out of the office. He stared strictly after her.

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