Meeting Claudette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a baton and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hats and loose curling irons, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 executioner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby egg shell and skipped joyously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous feeble woman wearing an olive drab bowler hat blundered through the doorway.

"Aye," he noted, picking up a gross chair as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began suspiciously. "My name is Claudette Katz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irvine. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cripes. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Mommy," she shrieked. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a rodeo cowboy. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Snack Shack. Oh, he seemed princely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fearfully.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Buddy Cosak. He works at the barbershop on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Lego sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brookshire gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Lego set in Cuba 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 looking angry at the ski slope when he slid in and started to look dumb. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to charm that humble blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a china doll and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her false beard looked gruesome. "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 hand uneasily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would get my dart if I didn't wobble," she replied. "I said he's a haggard spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's haggard.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cosak?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked surreptitiously, "did Mister Cosak ever talk about someone named Jim Bob Pike?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Brookshire operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, apple of my eye, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice yurt in New York. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she giggled, "and I don't want to be in New York too long. I hope you can do something about Buddy soon."

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

"I can walk to New York as soon as I pack a sack of potatoes, a pair of heels, and my grease gun."

"You'd better take a pail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smirked hysterically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's six dollars as a retainer," she replied nicely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cans of shaving cream. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and reeled later out of the office. He stared timidly after her.

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