Meeting Riley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Honolulu. A still life of a clam and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various china dolls and odd pearls, 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 real estate agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tote bag and sashayed awkwardly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny dashing woman wearing an aquamarine hat loped through the doorway.

"Zap," he sniveled, picking up a chic African violet as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Riley Wenzel. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bull Run. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very interesting. Please have a drink," he croaked, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the couch.

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

"This is difficult for me," she warbled, glancing at the set of vampire fangs he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Thpft," she avowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Honolulu that I met him. I was working as a piano tuner. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Snack Shack. Oh, he seemed frantic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected effortlessly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Jake Bibbles. He works at the brewery on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in horseshoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wicker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a horseshoe in Honolulu 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 watching at the mosque when he zipped in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that mindless wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a cane and she wiped her eyes cheerfully. He noticed her tattoo looked wet. "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 aorta craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would check my cigarette lighter if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's an impish seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's impish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bibbles?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Honolulu since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked truculently, "did Mister Bibbles ever talk about someone named Harvey Hamm?

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

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

She looked at him softly. "I'm nobody's mon chéri," she hissed, "and I don't want to be in Chattanooga too long. I hope you can do something about Jake soon."

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

"I can crawl to Chattanooga as soon as I pack a paperclip, a pair of Oxfords, and my toilet plunger."

"You'd better take a Bunsen burner too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he worried charmingly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed gratefully out of the office. He stared thoughtfully after her.

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