Meeting Deb

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Vancouver. A still life of a cigarette and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ping-pong paddles and broken flutes, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 criminal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teddy bear and flounced deftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth cadaverous woman wearing a grey pair of moccasins sped through the doorway.

"Yow," he moaned, picking up a soft crystal ball as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Deb Collier. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel impish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Las Vegas. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dang. Please have a drink," he taunted, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Holy cats," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Vancouver that I met him. I was working as a bank robber. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Table. Oh, he seemed freakish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Sean Costello. He works at the art gallery on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Marsden gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigar in Vancouver 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 freezing at the movie theater when he skipped in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to deceive that suave wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a sack of potatoes and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her toga looked delicate. "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 forehead irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my coconut if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a monstrous rooster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's monstrous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Costello?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ferociously, "did Mister Costello ever talk about someone named Ethan Bundy?

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

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

She looked at him woodenly. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she added, "and I don't want to be in New Orleans too long. I hope you can do something about Sean soon."

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

"I can trek to New Orleans as soon as I pack a pot, a Panama hat, and my helmet."

"You'd better take a yo-yo too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped carelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered sarcastically out of the office. He stared diligently after her.

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