Meeting Clarisse

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Belarus. A still life of a handkerchief and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various avocados and rare clipboards, relics of his days in Korea. 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 set designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby protest sign and scooted deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget adorable woman wearing a scarlet flak jacket sauntered through the doorway.

"Oh my," he sniveled, picking up a small flag as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began primly. "My name is Clarisse Clapper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubby. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Virginia Beach. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very funny. Please have a drink," he sneered, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Tarnation," she panted. "It was shortly after I came here to Belarus that I met him. I was working as an undertaker. He took me to a restaurant called California Stone. Oh, he seemed repulsive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's DeWitt Rebensdorf. He works at the movie theater on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of binoculars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jude gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of binoculars in Belarus 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 barking at the closet when he slithered in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that portly rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a smart phone and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her blanket looked hand-painted. "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 knee later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unlock my can of soup if I didn't kneel," she replied. "I said he's an agile airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's agile.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rebensdorf?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Belarus since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fondly, "did Mister Rebensdorf ever talk about someone named John Paul Running Bird?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she imitated, "and I don't want to be in South Bend too long. I hope you can do something about DeWitt soon."

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

"I can swagger to South Bend as soon as I pack a bone, a nightgown, and my flyswatter."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grunted thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked perkily out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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