Meeting Bria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a stick of gum and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various egg shells and large apples, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 blacksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basket and bolted sorrowfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated bald woman wearing a silver birthday suit tore through the doorway.

"Beats me," he alleged, picking up a cardboard chamber pot as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ruefully. "My name is Bria Sibley. 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 Tegucigalpa. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eww. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a beer and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Uh," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a bookkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Savanna. Oh, he seemed perky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected trustingly.

She stared into her beer. "His name's Warren Schlick. He works at the bookstore on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in statues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Koch gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a statue in Waco 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 staring at the beach when he inched in and started to inhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that presumptuous imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a toothbrush and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her camisole looked gigantic. "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 shin delicately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smudge my dish if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a disgusting cobra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disgusting.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schlick?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Waco since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked urgently, "did Mister Schlick ever talk about someone named Kim Abbey?

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

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

She looked at him sharply. "I'm nobody's nipkin," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Massachusetts too long. I hope you can do something about Warren soon."

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

"I can swagger to Massachusetts as soon as I pack a pickle, a jumpsuit, and my yo-yo."

"You'd better take a telephone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he raved brashly.

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

She rose from her seat and went gleefully out of the office. He stared anxiously after her.

Next Chapter