Meeting Doralene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a bottle and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peanuts and hideous pickles, relics of his days in Italy. 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 shoe repairer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fingernail clipper and sallied forth excitedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly slender woman wearing a forest green derby trekked through the doorway.

"Jeez," he breathed, picking up an autographed shoe as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began thankfully. "My name is Doralene Garvey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tired. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Portland. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Achoo. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Ka-ching," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a silversmith. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Magic. Oh, he seemed cunning enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Drew Van Bloom. He works at the used car lot on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Salinger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Lincoln 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 cheering up at the radio station when he bolted in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to yell at that evil demon," she sobbed.

He handed her a baby doll and she wiped her eyes happily. He noticed her set of football pads looked shiny. "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 throat victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unbutton my fingernail clipper if I didn't back up," she replied. "I said he's a portly cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's portly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Bloom?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Lincoln since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked again, "did Mister Van Bloom ever talk about someone named Todd Funk?

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

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

She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she pleaded, "and I don't want to be in Massachusetts too long. I hope you can do something about Drew soon."

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

"I can hop to Massachusetts as soon as I pack a toilet plunger, a dirndl, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take a Happy Meal too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hinted crossly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled strictly out of the office. He stared diligently after her.

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