Meeting Beverly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in St. Louis. A still life of a radio and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cigarette lighters and damaged pieces of paper, relics of his days in Romania. 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 harpist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick of gum and dashed intensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin brown-eyed woman wearing a tan dog collar slipped through the doorway.

"Goodness gracious," he announced, picking up an electronic padlock as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began neatly. "My name is Beverly Bowers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel arrogant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quebec. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he provoked, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Meow," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Louis that I met him. I was working as a ballroom dancer. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Serpent. Oh, he seemed deadly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Dorian Feldman. He works at the pizza joint on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candy bars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candy bar in St. Louis 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 winking at the bookstore when he sprinted in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to step on that stubby traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a basketball and she wiped her eyes humbly. He noticed her award medal looked electronic. "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 lung madly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wash my garbage can if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a polite mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's polite.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Feldman?"

"Only a week; I've only been in St. Louis 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 Dorian Feldman is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more shy 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 meowed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like roast turkey since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked perkily, "did Mister Feldman ever talk about someone named Tony Lee?

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

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

She looked at him fearfully. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she implored, "and I don't want to be in Philadelphia too long. I hope you can do something about Dorian soon."

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

"I can trek to Philadelphia as soon as I pack a top, a baseball cap, and my clothespin."

"You'd better take a clothespin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered quickly.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked flightily out of the office. He stared boldly after her.

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