Meeting Katherine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Boise. A still life of a pillow and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dog collars and excellent ping-pong paddles, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 electrical engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teacup and breezed glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby bald woman wearing a jade pair of booties scurried through the doorway.

"Fudge," he mouthed, picking up a rusty sponge as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frantically. "My name is Katherine Pickett. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fort Wayne. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bah. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Crap," she blubbered. "It was shortly after I came here to Boise that I met him. I was working as a sign painter. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Retreat. Oh, he seemed fashionable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected boisterously.

She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Cliff Bronner. He works at the brewery on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in basketballs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Owen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a basketball in Boise 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 blanking out at the bedroom when he hobbled in and started to tremble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that absent-minded dork," she sobbed.

He handed her a piggy bank and she wiped her eyes oddly. He noticed her pair of Groucho glasses looked sleek. "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 tongue warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would remove my ping-pong paddle if I didn't adjust," she replied. "I said he's a sensible otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sensible.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bronner?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked peevishly, "did Mister Bronner ever talk about someone named T.J. Alden?

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

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

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she reasoned, "and I don't want to be in Istanbul too long. I hope you can do something about Cliff soon."

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

"I can stride to Istanbul as soon as I pack a Barbie doll, a loincloth, and my brush."

"You'd better take a cactus plant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he agreed nonchalantly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed brashly out of the office. He stared ruefully after her.

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