Meeting LaVerne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Utah. A still life of a china doll and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flashlights and fresh handkerchiefs, relics of his days in Egypt. 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cage and jogged solemnly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous redheaded woman wearing a hot pink garland waddled through the doorway.

"Bless my hide," he hinted, picking up an autographed dog biscuit as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lickety-split. "My name is LaVerne Wallace. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel refined. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tucson. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay caramba. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Humph," she burbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Utah that I met him. I was working as a factory worker. He took me to a restaurant called China Drive-In. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected zestily.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Nathan Hruska. He works at the library on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Owen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pen in Utah 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 dancing at the restaurant when he zipped in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to avoid that pensive traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a toilet seat and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her locket looked prickly. "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 spine sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swipe my stuffed bunny if I didn't dream," she replied. "I said he's an articulate gerbil. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's articulate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hruska?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Utah 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 Nathan Hruska is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more dapper than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly button like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got along for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like freshly baked cookies since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister Hruska ever talk about someone named Bruno Abbey?

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

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

She looked at him boldly. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she recited, "and I don't want to be in Afghanistan too long. I hope you can do something about Nathan soon."

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

"I can leap to Afghanistan as soon as I pack a piano, a fez, and my whistle."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fumed craftily.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled cheerfully out of the office. He stared peevishly after her.

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