Meeting Carol

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Norfolk. A still life of a Barbie doll and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various microscopes and coarse stacks of papers, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 janitor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pepper grinder and scurried tensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe little woman wearing a beige pair of pajamas traipsed through the doorway.

"Sweet," he smiled, picking up a hand-carved basket as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carelessly. "My name is Carol Sekora. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel insane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her eye made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoo. Please have a drink," he blubbered, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Whoa baby," she articulated. "It was shortly after I came here to Norfolk that I met him. I was working as a missionary. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Stone. Oh, he seemed thoughtful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crossly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Wes Sharpe. He works at the insurance agency on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dollhouses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bates gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dollhouse in Norfolk 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 inhaling at the tanning salon when he tramped in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to castigate that perky slubberdegullion," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookbook and she wiped her eyes mysteriously. He noticed her tutu looked gigantic. "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 thigh fondly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would copy my hacksaw if I didn't flinch," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal dragon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sharpe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stealthily, "did Mister Sharpe ever talk about someone named Beauford Hughes?

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

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she groveled, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Wes soon."

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

"I can waddle to Modesto as soon as I pack a feather, a pair of toe shoes, and my teapot."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he complained nervously.

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

She rose from her seat and dove briskly out of the office. He stared majestically after her.

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