Meeting Wesley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Wisconsin. A still life of a pinwheel and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stuffed owls and speckled rubber chickens, relics of his days in Angola. 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 librarian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corsage and crept sheepishly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky spindly woman wearing a purple beard scurried through the doorway.

"Man alive," he fretted, picking up a modern twig as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began threateningly. "My name is Wesley Brandon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel unselfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tegucigalpa. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Harrumph. Please have a drink," he prattled, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Ow," she shouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Wisconsin that I met him. I was working as a wallpaper hanger. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Wingding. Oh, he seemed generous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Sanjay Grady. He works at the art gallery on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in snails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tutu gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a snail in Wisconsin 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 raising an eyebrow at the wine tasting when he galumphed in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ridicule that intense ruffian," she sobbed.

He handed her a map and she wiped her eyes suddenly. He noticed her pair of boxing gloves looked multicolored. "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 vein blankly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my Big Gulp if I didn't meow," she replied. "I said he's a lanky hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lanky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grady?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Wisconsin since then."

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

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

He sounded more idiotic 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 wobbled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like tobacco since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Grady ever talk about someone named Stephen Porterfield?

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

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

She looked at him suddenly. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she appealed, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Sanjay soon."

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

"I can fly to Seoul as soon as I pack a camera, a fez, and my broom."

"You'd better take a flyswatter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered briskly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred ten dollars as a retainer," she replied woefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bird feeders. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and climbed wearily out of the office. He stared brashly after her.

Next Chapter