Meeting Drew

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in England. A still life of a banana and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various guns and rusty hot potatoes, relics of his days in Korea. 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 hit man, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby lemon and sidled kindly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender bedraggled woman wearing a rose jumper hobbled through the doorway.

"Hurray," he sighed, picking up a rusty candle as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began violently. "My name is Drew Xu. 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 Knoxville. Her adrenal gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Roger. Please have a drink," he provoked, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"Awesome," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to England that I met him. I was working as a fitness trainer. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Gourmet. Oh, he seemed urbane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Horst Peralta. He works at the Hallmark shop on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pop bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bates gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pop bottle in England 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 growling at the bagel shop when he walked in and started to chant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punish that moody hothead," she sobbed.

He handed her a crate and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her cheerleader's uniform looked polished. "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 dignity blindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refurbish my fire hose if I didn't die," she replied. "I said he's an evil wolf. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's evil.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Peralta?"

"Only a day; I've only been in England since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Peralta ever talk about someone named Hunter Alden?

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

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

She looked at him bravely. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she agreed, "and I don't want to be in Rochester too long. I hope you can do something about Horst soon."

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

"I can run to Rochester as soon as I pack a teddy bear, a bicycle helmet, and my chair."

"You'd better take an antenna too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he implored flightily.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled nicely out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

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