Meeting Harriet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Toledo. A still life of a flowerpot and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Lego sets and burned tickets, relics of his days in Haiti. 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 nun, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and strode flightily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bald woman wearing an ivory loincloth sashayed through the doorway.

"Good gracious," he joked, picking up a ridged fire hose as he darted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began patiently. "My name is Harriet Oswald. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel careful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cleveland. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Par bleu. Please have a drink," he thought, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Well," she grunted. "It was shortly after I came here to Toledo that I met him. I was working as a manicurist. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Food & Spirits. Oh, he seemed refined enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Andy Velasquez. He works at the barbershop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pictures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stewart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a picture in Toledo 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 inhaling at the pet store when he rushed in and started to raise an eyebrow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ridicule that hirsute ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes madly. He noticed her big red rose looked gruesome. "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 hair wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would polish my bone if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's an attractive eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's attractive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Velasquez?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Toledo since then."

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

"Okay, so this Andy Velasquez 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 lip like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and shivered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Elizabeth Arden since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked violently, "did Mister Velasquez ever talk about someone named Desmond André?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she gasped, "and I don't want to be in Scottsdale too long. I hope you can do something about Andy soon."

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

"I can slide to Scottsdale as soon as I pack a stamp, a set of vampire fangs, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a fingernail clipper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled automatically.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked wildly out of the office. He stared hastily after her.

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