Meeting Bernadette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Algiers. A still life of a Bunsen burner and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various screwdrivers and primitive fossils, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 baseball player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coconut and careened steadily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight bedraggled woman wearing a carrot-orange cheerleader's uniform slithered through the doorway.

"I'm outta here," he muttered, picking up an ordinary spoon as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Bernadette Soto. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tactful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dayton. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very funny. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Jumpin’ Jehosaphat," she judged. "It was shortly after I came here to Algiers that I met him. I was working as an astrologer. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Food Truck. Oh, he seemed queer enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected testily.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Rip Nixon. He works at the opera house on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ironing boards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Draney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ironing board in Algiers 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 fainting at the Seven-Eleven when he made a beeline in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to wink at that bold bumpkin," she sobbed.

He handed her a cotton ball and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her pair of glasses looked stiff. "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 toenail patiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rearrange my spittoon if I didn't grunt," she replied. "I said he's a brazen rooster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nixon?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unexpectedly, "did Mister Nixon ever talk about someone named Brad Cadwallader?

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

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

She looked at him ferociously. "I'm nobody's angel," she piped up, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Rip soon."

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

"I can jog to Colorado as soon as I pack a coupon, a pair of trousers, and my peace pipe."

"You'd better take a Hostess Ding Dong too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he debated nicely.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted tearfully out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

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