Meeting Camella

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Hawaii. A still life of a comic book and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various corncobs and crisp spinning wheels, relics of his days in India. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pepper grinder and careened impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small homely woman wearing an orange pair of suspenders rolled through the doorway.

"Beshrew me," he belched, picking up a modern rose as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began glumly. "My name is Camella Ramirez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tired. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bismark. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pssst. Please have a drink," he chortled, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the windowsill.

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

"This is difficult for me," she rumored, 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 accidentally.

"I'll drink to that," she noted. "It was shortly after I came here to Hawaii that I met him. I was working as a computer geek. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Food Factory. Oh, he seemed high-strung enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Chuck Poole. He works at the hair salon on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Grant gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in Hawaii 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 cringing at the restaurant when he lumbered in and started to pucker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lose that stubborn egomaniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper bag and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her bandana looked electronic. "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 finger immediately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unbutton my blanket if I didn't holler," she replied. "I said he's a prissy salamander. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prissy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Poole?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Hawaii since then."

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

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

He sounded more somber than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his midriff like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and crept for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fresh-baked bread since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sleepily, "did Mister Poole ever talk about someone named Deng Kaiser?

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

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

She looked at him intensely. "I'm nobody's princess," she revealed, "and I don't want to be in Scottsdale too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can walk to Scottsdale as soon as I pack a bag of ice, a visor, and my sack of potatoes."

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

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's thirty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied coolly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of coins. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled frantically out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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