Meeting Cheryl

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Columbus. A still life of a Hostess Ding Dong and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various amulets and hand-painted ice cream cones, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 choir director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather and danced merrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby lean woman wearing a blue nightgown stalked through the doorway.

"Omigosh," he questioned, picking up a synthetic African violet as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearlessly. "My name is Cheryl Matthews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corona. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eh. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Good golly," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Columbus that I met him. I was working as a meteorologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Castle. Oh, he seemed corpulent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hungrily.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Ronald Pavlov. He works at the used car lot on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in key rings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Noonan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key ring in Columbus 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 sweating at the bedroom when he zipped in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to subdue that contented dope fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her a fish and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked stuffed. "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 thumb sheepishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smash my bag if I didn't weep," she replied. "I said he's a cuddly magpie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cuddly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pavlov?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sourly, "did Mister Pavlov ever talk about someone named Kellen Finegan?

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

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's old friend," she vowed, "and I don't want to be in Bucharest too long. I hope you can do something about Ronald soon."

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

"I can amble to Bucharest as soon as I pack a blanket, a tailcoat, and my cactus plant."

"You'd better take a wrench too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he called violently.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed grimly out of the office. He stared crossly after her.

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