Meeting Chelsea

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a fingernail clipper and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fish bowls and nifty buckets, relics of his days in Japan. 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 dog trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tennis racket and skittered madly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout alert woman wearing a khaki cheerleader's uniform barrelled through the doorway.

"For Pete's sake," he chortled, picking up a bizarre bottle of painkillers as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began grandly. "My name is Chelsea Pryor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moronic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Philadelphia. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blah. Please have a drink," he howled, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Golly whiz," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a lifeguard. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Steak & Suds. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wildly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's John Simon. He works at the movie theater on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tote bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCracken gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tote bag in Lincoln 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 snoring at the synagogue when he proceeded in and started to whistle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to get to know that apoplectic old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a coupon and she wiped her eyes solemnly. He noticed her blazer looked damaged. "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 beard frantically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my can of soup if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's a pensive mole. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simon?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Lincoln 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 John Simon is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked elatedly, "did Mister Simon ever talk about someone named Del Hanks?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the McCracken operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, big lug, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in the Marshall Islands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about John soon."

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

"I can stroll to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a can of shaving cream, a diaper, and my iPod."

"You'd better take a stuffed bunny too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled shyly.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled primly out of the office. He stared craftily after her.

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