Meeting Bianca

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Tennessee. A still life of a chess set and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various skulls and nifty joints, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 sheriff, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and staggered quietly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous youthful woman wearing an orange pair of Reeboks cantered through the doorway.

"Yep," he reacted, picking up a crusty package as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Bianca Strait. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel annoying. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Scottsdale. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why. Please have a drink," he taunted, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Durn," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tennessee that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Stone. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected surreptitiously.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Hamlet Caldwell. He works at the antique store on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hockey pucks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nelson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hockey puck in Tennessee 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 adjusting at the rock concert when he careened in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that sarcastic hellhound," she sobbed.

He handed her a basket and she wiped her eyes confidently. He noticed her dunce cap looked handy. "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 heel jokingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would open my toilet seat if I didn't play solitaire," she replied. "I said he's an obedient monkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obedient.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Caldwell?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "did Mister Caldwell ever talk about someone named Shane Bates?

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

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's dreamboat," she suggested, "and I don't want to be in Liechtenstein too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Liechtenstein as soon as I pack a fountain pen, a derby, and my pair of headphones."

"You'd better take a fish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groveled lovingly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered lazily out of the office. He stared viciously after her.

Next Chapter