Meeting Helen
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought confidently. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling feathers door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Modesto. A still life of a bone and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various antennas and loose bottles of painkillers, relics of his days in Iraq. 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 stamp collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pom-pom and galumphed numbly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a divine dashing woman wearing a pea green towel breezed through the doorway.
"Huh," he complained, picking up a small shoe as he scurried to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began confidently. "My name is Helen Deutsch. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Rock. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the hope chest.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she smiled, glancing at the name tag he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied intensely.
"Ten-four," she blurted. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a dance instructor. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Wall. Oh, he seemed masculine enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected fearfully.
She stared into her Coke. "His name's Billy Agnew. He works at the newsstand on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in nails."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schmuckley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a nail in Modesto 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 looking puzzled at the restaurant when he straggled in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to whisper to that presumptuous dirty dog," she sobbed.
He handed her a top and she wiped her eyes testily. He noticed her pair of Reeboks looked jagged. "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 thorax brightly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would pick my hammer if I didn't dress up," she replied. "I said he's a monstrous koala. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's monstrous.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Agnew?"
"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Modesto since then."
"I see." He felt for his Nerf bat in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Billy Agnew is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more anemic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his skin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and meowed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like burning rubber since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked lickety-split, "did Mister Agnew ever talk about someone named Lex Ortega?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a honk.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Schmuckley operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, homie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice flat in Stockton. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm nobody's homie," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Stockton too long. I hope you can do something about Billy soon."
"I'll do my best, mon chéri. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can amble to Stockton as soon as I pack an umbrella, a pair of briefs, and my Band-aid."
"You'd better take a candy cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chortled rapidly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied wearily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of snails. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and marched strangely out of the office. He stared busily after her.
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