Meeting Charlene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Concord. A still life of a chamber pot and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cans of beer and aromatic spinning wheels, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 FBI Agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby wastebasket and stalked daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf large woman wearing a grey pair of glasses climbed through the doorway.

"Ahh," he mouthed, picking up a rigid bicycle as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crossly. "My name is Charlene Wozniak. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Peoria. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Barf. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Hang it," she mumbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Concord that I met him. I was working as a violinist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Sun. Oh, he seemed forgetful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected victoriously.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Norm Wykes. He works at the music store on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candy bars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Reynolds gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candy bar in Concord 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 snickering at the tattoo parlor when he sidled in and started to freak out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to think about that childish wannabe," she sobbed.

He handed her a spoon and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her sombrero looked original. "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 gut pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bake my flute if I didn't burp," she replied. "I said he's a powerful lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wykes?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Concord since then."

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

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

He sounded more shiftless than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his fingernail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and exhaled 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 languidly, "did Mister Wykes ever talk about someone named Donald Lippman?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she voiced, "and I don't want to be in Mauritania too long. I hope you can do something about Norm soon."

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

"I can gallop to Mauritania as soon as I pack a stuffed owl, a pair of false eyelashes, and my skull."

"You'd better take an abacus too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groaned quickly.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped obediently out of the office. He stared truculently after her.

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