Meeting Clara

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in California. A still life of a dollar bill and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sticks of gum and ruined guns, relics of his days in Slovakia. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tissue and strode softly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout bedraggled woman wearing a chocolate brown bra walked through the doorway.

"Fantastic," he sniffed, picking up a curved feather duster as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began impatiently. "My name is Clara Gill. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel peculiar. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vancouver. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ooh. Please have a drink," he giggled, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"For Pete's sake," she whispered. "It was shortly after I came here to California that I met him. I was working as a barber. He took me to a restaurant called the White Pan. Oh, he seemed cunning enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cheerfully.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Rick Douglas. He works at the office supply store on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Slade gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in California 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 getting sleepy at the tanning salon when he rolled in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lick that obnoxious twerp," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper bag and she wiped her eyes violently. He noticed her pair of suspenders looked speckled. "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 hoof brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would freeze my flashlight if I didn't quiver," she replied. "I said he's a stubby cobra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Douglas?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked properly, "did Mister Douglas ever talk about someone named Solomon Stoltenburg?

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

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

She looked at him craftily. "I'm nobody's radiant starlight," she cried, "and I don't want to be in Lesotho too long. I hope you can do something about Rick soon."

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

"I can scamper to Lesotho as soon as I pack a dish, a tie, and my box of candy."

"You'd better take an ironing board too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he complained grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed crazily out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

Next Chapter