Meeting Francie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Boise. A still life of a cigarette lighter and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cookies and broken diagrams, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 massage therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of dice and rushed hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky flabby woman wearing a tan set of camo fatigues slunk through the doorway.

"Shhh," he warbled, picking up a loose pencil sharpener as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Francie Major. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel artistic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in St. Petersburg. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers. Please have a drink," he chimed, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Shazam," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Boise that I met him. I was working as a helicopter pilot. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Sushi. Oh, he seemed rude enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Salvatore Grover. He works at the gift shop on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crutches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frankowitz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a crutch 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 smiling at the health club when he sidled in and started to grumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to berate that naïve scurvy dog," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes queerly. He noticed her jerkin looked damp. "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 skull sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inspect my bone if I didn't deal cards," she replied. "I said he's a frightened bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frightened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grover?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister Grover ever talk about someone named Todd Webb?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's punkin," she whined, "and I don't want to be in South Bend too long. I hope you can do something about Salvatore soon."

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

"I can scoot to South Bend as soon as I pack a coat check ticket, a diamond necklace, and my playing card."

"You'd better take a ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he queried delicately.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded crankily out of the office. He stared truculently after her.

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