Meeting Carol

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Louisville. A still life of a pepper grinder and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various magnifying glasses and bent rolls of duct tape, relics of his days in Peru. 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 social media influencer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flute and struggled sympathetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe dainty woman wearing a jet black sarong careened through the doorway.

"Yikes," he belched, picking up an imported egg shell as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fervently. "My name is Carol Weatherford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel coy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Canberra. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Really. Please have a drink," he articulated, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Yeehah," she mentioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisville that I met him. I was working as a barista. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Kettle. Oh, he seemed nervous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected resignedly.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Bobby Hartley. He works at the bar on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in china dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fischer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a china doll in Louisville 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 flinching at the ski slope when he staggered in and started to chortle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to rebuff that proud scurvy bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her an iPad and she wiped her eyes stupidly. He noticed her bustier looked plastic. "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 pinky sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would replace my teddy bear if I didn't swallow," she replied. "I said he's a lively hippopotamus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lively.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hartley?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Louisville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked joyously, "did Mister Hartley ever talk about someone named Tom Pythagoras?

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

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

She looked at him coolly. "I'm nobody's cutie," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Louisiana too long. I hope you can do something about Bobby soon."

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

"I can trek to Louisiana as soon as I pack a clipboard, a cocktail dress, and my pail."

"You'd better take a coloring book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stuttered innocently.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled speedily out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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