Meeting Henrietta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Jersey City. A still life of a magazine and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various whistles and sophisticated statues, relics of his days in the Sandwich Islands. 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hubcap and bounded anxiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt fit woman wearing an olive drab tailcoat waltzed through the doorway.

"Lordy," he fumed, picking up a gleaming urn as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel atrocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kansas City. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he gasped, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Woof," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Jersey City that I met him. I was working as a designer. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Gems. Oh, he seemed evil enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Pablo Cadwallader. He works at the bike shop on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Zimmerman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shoe in Jersey City 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 frowning at the party when he reeled in and started to shiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that adorable blackguard," she sobbed.

He handed her a flyswatter and she wiped her eyes victoriously. He noticed her burqa looked tiny. "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 pituitary gland offhandedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would package my ruler if I didn't get sleepy," she replied. "I said he's a fascinating musk-ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fascinating.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cadwallader?"

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

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

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

He sounded more stern than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and treaded water for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cheap cologne since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked madly, "did Mister Cadwallader ever talk about someone named Franklin Cleveland?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Zimmerman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice subway tunnel in Petaluma. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she mumbled, "and I don't want to be in Petaluma too long. I hope you can do something about Pablo soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Petaluma as soon as I pack a sack of potatoes, a skeleton costume, and my telephone book."

"You'd better take a magnifying glass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped hopelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered carefully out of the office. He stared speedily after her.

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