Meeting Loreen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Norfolk. A still life of a cigarette and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various baseball bats and grubby cans of sardines, relics of his days in Paraguay. 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 usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby church key and skittered repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous feeble woman wearing a violet fedora loped through the doorway.

"Blaak," he screamed, picking up a flexible remote control as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began briskly. "My name is Loreen Kraft. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleek. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great Jehosaphat. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Too much," she stated. "It was shortly after I came here to Norfolk that I met him. I was working as an actor. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Emporium. Oh, he seemed bilious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected solemnly.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Gilmo Cantrell. He works at the drug store on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pain pills."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cain gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pain pill in Norfolk 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 getting rigid at the closet when he swaggered in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dance with that sincere joker," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her false beard looked modern. "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 face swiftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hurl my piggy bank if I didn't dress up," she replied. "I said he's a crafty fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crafty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cantrell?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Norfolk since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nervously, "did Mister Cantrell ever talk about someone named Louis Pacheco?

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

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

She looked at him joyously. "I'm nobody's doll," she murmured, "and I don't want to be in Tehran too long. I hope you can do something about Gilmo soon."

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

"I can fly to Tehran as soon as I pack a paperclip, a gladiator helmet, and my bouquet."

"You'd better take a hockey puck too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped crossly.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded warily out of the office. He stared pitifully after her.

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