Meeting Candy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Kalamazoo. A still life of an artificial flower and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various crayons and slimy dollar bills, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 music teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby wrench and swung quickly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump frumpy woman wearing a sparkly pair of trousers marched through the doorway.

"Big whoop," he sniveled, picking up a rigid peanut as he padded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel awkward. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Guadalajara. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Petunia. Please have a drink," he cajoled, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Bullpuckey," she snarled. "It was shortly after I came here to Kalamazoo that I met him. I was working as an FBI Agent. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Pan. Oh, he seemed heavyset enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deliberately.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Hugh Sterling. He works at the bike shop on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magazines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Radcliffe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magazine in Kalamazoo 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 glaring at the bagel shop when he staggered in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that rude hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a piano and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her business suit looked fresh. "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 claw brightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would describe my dollhouse if I didn't look dumb," she replied. "I said he's a zany falcon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sterling?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Kalamazoo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Sterling ever talk about someone named Zeke Weeden?

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

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

She looked at him crossly. "I'm nobody's homie," she boasted, "and I don't want to be in Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Hugh soon."

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

"I can struggle to Mongolia as soon as I pack a playing card, a cummerbund, and my cage."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and darted fearlessly out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

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