Meeting Pam

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a yardstick and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pearls and delicate yo-yos, relics of his days in Finland. 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 physician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of toothpaste and sprinted mysteriously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious massive woman wearing a pea green hair net tore through the doorway.

"Hah," he urged, picking up a smooth whoopee cushion as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began admiringly. "My name is Pam Keefe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel serious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Freaky. Please have a drink," he hinted, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Malarkey," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a beekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected busily.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Brett Fisher. He works at the tobacco shop on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in maps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stuart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a map in the Amazon 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 lying around in bed at the disco when he made a beeline in and started to cry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to appease that cantankerous rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a flash drive and she wiped her eyes dreamily. He noticed her jogging suit looked hand-carved. "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 thumb tenderly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my muffin if I didn't stretch," she replied. "I said he's an adorable elephant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fisher?"

"Only a month; I've only been in the Amazon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister Fisher ever talk about someone named Tyler Lindgren?

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

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

She looked at him majestically. "I'm nobody's petunia," she declared, "and I don't want to be in Tennessee too long. I hope you can do something about Brett soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Tennessee as soon as I pack an iPhone, a pair of moccasins, and my basketball."

"You'd better take a salt shaker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he preached dolefully.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk neatly out of the office. He stared brashly after her.

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