Meeting Stephanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Aurora. A still life of a bottle of perfume and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dulcimers and overgrown pizzas, relics of his days in Albania. 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 secretary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vase and reeled warily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump pallid woman wearing a khaki suit of armor went through the doorway.

"Bravo," he rambled, picking up a damp stuffed bunny as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wearily. "My name is Stephanie Sibley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cruel. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Seattle. Her palm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bingo. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Spiffy," she cackled. "It was shortly after I came here to Aurora that I met him. I was working as a sales representative. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed wicked enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Joel Yastremski. He works at the liquor store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Diaz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peach in Aurora 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 daydreaming at the rock concert when he bounded in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that deadly psycho," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes vigorously. He noticed her tattoo looked imitation. "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 eyelash dubiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would burn my piece of chalk if I didn't screech," she replied. "I said he's an intrepid gorilla. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intrepid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yastremski?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Aurora since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked delicately, "did Mister Yastremski ever talk about someone named Saul Torres?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him curiously. "I'm nobody's dearie," she piped up, "and I don't want to be in Tennessee too long. I hope you can do something about Joel soon."

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

"I can set out to Tennessee as soon as I pack a painting, a belly button jewel, and my bottle."

"You'd better take a shovel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he roared breathlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and inched openly out of the office. He stared pitifully after her.

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