Meeting Hazel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Chicago. A still life of a peanut and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pink flamingoes and stolen ingots of plutonium, relics of his days in El Salvador. 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 peddler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teddy bear and waddled jokingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short sleek woman wearing an olive green garland slithered through the doorway.

"Holy cow," he revealed, picking up a crusty peanut as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sweetly. "My name is Hazel Eriksson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bald. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rapid City. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Just a minute. Please have a drink," he quavered, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"OMG," she rationalized. "It was shortly after I came here to Chicago that I met him. I was working as an air traffic controller. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Terrace. Oh, he seemed sincere enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Max Xu. He works at the fabric store on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rolls of toilet paper."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rexford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a roll of toilet paper in Chicago 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 freaking out at the movie theater when he tore in and started to deal cards. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to belittle that moronic hog," she sobbed.

He handed her a knitting needle and she wiped her eyes madly. He noticed her bracelet looked porcelain. "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 abdomen wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slash my horseshoe if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a disagreeable manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disagreeable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Xu?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Chicago since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Xu ever talk about someone named Luis Hastings?

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

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

She looked at him jokingly. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Lansing too long. I hope you can do something about Max soon."

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

"I can galumph to Lansing as soon as I pack a thumb drive, a belt, and my cream puff."

"You'd better take a paperclip too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he worried valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled irritably out of the office. He stared speedily after her.

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