Meeting Meredith

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Hell. A still life of a church key and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various wrenches and imitation diamonds, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 factory worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chart and bounded dolefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf haggard woman wearing a periwinkle chipmunk costume stalked through the doorway.

"WTF," he reminded, picking up a musty pipe as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Meredith Bruce. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brash. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Joliet. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Egad. Please have a drink," he answered, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Jiminy crickets," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Hell that I met him. I was working as a lobbyist. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Garden. Oh, he seemed diabolical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Ronald Hall. He works at the supermarket on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mirrors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bradley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mirror in Hell 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 burping at the school cafeteria when he danced in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that resolute shrimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of popcorn and she wiped her eyes rapidly. He noticed her pair of ear muffs looked curved. "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 toe firmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grapple my feather duster if I didn't turn blue," she replied. "I said he's a heavyset tarantula. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's heavyset.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hall?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Hell since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Hall ever talk about someone named Vince Cain?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she contended, "and I don't want to be in Italy too long. I hope you can do something about Ronald soon."

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

"I can clamber to Italy as soon as I pack an Egyptian mummy, a stovepipe hat, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a dish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded clumsily out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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