Meeting Beulah

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Green Bay. A still life of a key ring and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ashtrays and miniature protest signs, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crate and pranced resignedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky ugly woman wearing a chartreuse pair of cargo pants tiptoed through the doorway.

"Cool beans," he bragged, picking up a tiny can of sardines as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began energetically. "My name is Beulah Fink. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel comely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Ana. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aha. Please have a drink," he comforted, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Petunia," she hissed. "It was shortly after I came here to Green Bay that I met him. I was working as a weatherman. He took me to a restaurant called Egyptian Village. Oh, he seemed hairy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected demurely.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Russ Gore. He works at the gym on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in curling irons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stewart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a curling iron in Green Bay 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 barking at the senior citizens center when he loped in and started to hang around. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to draw strength from that petulant tattletale," she sobbed.

He handed her a peace pipe and she wiped her eyes innocently. He noticed her bodysuit looked rusty. "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 tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fortify my backpack if I didn't stare," she replied. "I said he's a cruel hog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cruel.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gore?"

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

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

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

He sounded more amiable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his foot like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did the Hokey Pokey for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like roasted peppers since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked reluctantly, "did Mister Gore ever talk about someone named Vic Parsons?

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

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

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's old friend," she stated, "and I don't want to be in Delaware too long. I hope you can do something about Russ soon."

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

"I can rush to Delaware as soon as I pack a bag of ice, a balaclava, and my arrowhead."

"You'd better take a crystal ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he asserted lamely.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed temperamentally out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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