Meeting Cherise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a stone and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dollhouses and archaic fossils, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 stagehand, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of glue and dove calmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth beautiful woman wearing an olive green gladiator helmet ran through the doorway.

"Too much," he queried, picking up a large stick as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Cherise Barbee. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fascinating. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bangkok. Her throat made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy frijole. Please have a drink," he blurted, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Piffle," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Wall. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Carl Sekora. He works at the gym on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in houseplants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carver gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a houseplant in Waco 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 shrugging at the pool hall when he zipped in and started to wobble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that emotional freak," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of ice and she wiped her eyes majestically. He noticed her beehive looked striped. "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 gall bladder kindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my firecracker if I didn't shake," she replied. "I said he's a frightened gnu. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frightened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sekora?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked bravely, "did Mister Sekora ever talk about someone named Clifford O'Connor?

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

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

She looked at him cleverly. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Vanatu too long. I hope you can do something about Carl soon."

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

"I can inch to Vanatu as soon as I pack a tube of glue, a pair of culottes, and my basket."

"You'd better take a cracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he accused trustingly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed cautiously out of the office. He stared miserably after her.

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