Meeting Candy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Athens. A still life of a bird feeder and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various boxes of Kleenex and clean telephones, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 travel agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather duster and swung grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby plain woman wearing a crimson beret cantered through the doorway.

"Gosh," he spewed, picking up a loose coloring book as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel stinky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Brownsville. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yipes. Please have a drink," he chuckled, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Athens that I met him. I was working as a referee. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Flower. Oh, he seemed distressed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blankly.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Corbin Craig. He works at the saloon on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in twigs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eppley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a twig in Athens 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 doing nothing at the orchestra concert when he slid in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that proud coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a cream puff and she wiped her eyes noisily. He noticed her military uniform looked heavy. "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 back warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slap my grease gun if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's a tactful mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tactful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craig?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Athens 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 Corbin Craig is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Craig ever talk about someone named Shane Peña?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Eppley 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 manor in Alabama. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

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

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

"I can skip to Alabama as soon as I pack a hair dryer, a fedora, and my ball."

"You'd better take a napkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whispered hastily.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered offhandedly out of the office. He stared firmly after her.

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