Meeting Motormouth

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Lansing. A still life of a skull and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various radios and spongy thumb drives, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 locksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and climbed despondently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard redheaded woman wearing a navy blue bolo tie stormed through the doorway.

"Bleep," he avowed, picking up a hand-made urn as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began roughly. "My name is Motormouth Wall. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weird. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Seoul. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Beshrew me. Please have a drink," he giggled, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Holy smokeroo," she screeched. "It was shortly after I came here to Lansing that I met him. I was working as a juggler. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Spoon. Oh, he seemed fashionable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wryly.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Jay Van Hook. He works at the auto repair shop on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calling cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Burns gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calling card in Lansing 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 curtseying at the closet when he ran in and started to buzz. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that absent-minded scullery maid," she sobbed.

He handed her a bird bath and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her burqa looked expensive. "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 shin warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cook my book if I didn't wince," she replied. "I said he's a haggard cobra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's haggard.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Hook?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Lansing since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked openly, "did Mister Van Hook ever talk about someone named Rich Finney?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Burns operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, light of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Victorian mansion in Denmark. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him deftly. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she babbled, "and I don't want to be in Denmark too long. I hope you can do something about Jay soon."

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

"I can creep to Denmark as soon as I pack a pipe, a pair of sweatpants, and my computer."

"You'd better take a fishing pole too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he insisted vigorously.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed innocently out of the office. He stared shyly after her.

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