Meeting Henrietta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Alabama. A still life of a pencil sharpener and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pizzas and brightly-colored coffee pots, relics of his days in Slovakia. 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 short order cook, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bone and loped tensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite filthy woman wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt crept through the doorway.

"Unbelievable," he prattled, picking up a striking stopwatch as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woodenly. "My name is Henrietta Yang. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel yappy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tampa. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ho ho. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Oh my word," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Alabama that I met him. I was working as a stockbroker. He took me to a restaurant called London Bison. Oh, he seemed carefree enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Alan Gentry. He works at the electronics store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bugles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Truman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bugle in Alabama 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 huffing at the basement when he cantered in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to leave that self-assured nincompoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a Bunsen burner and she wiped her eyes courageously. He noticed her pair of jackboots looked shiny. "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 Achilles tendon crankily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my cowbell if I didn't look angry," she replied. "I said he's an amiable computer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's amiable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gentry?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Alabama 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 Alan Gentry is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked hungrily, "did Mister Gentry ever talk about someone named Eldon Xing?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Truman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, knight in shining armor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice wikiup in Central African Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him hungrily. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she spouted, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Alan soon."

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

"I can sidle to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a deck of cards, a pair of boxer shorts, and my key ring."

"You'd better take an accordion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted urgently.

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

She rose from her seat and tore grandly out of the office. He stared sympathetically after her.

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