Meeting Taylor

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Atlanta. A still life of a paintbrush and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various floppy disks and rusty urns, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 optician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toolbox and barrelled doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf attractive woman wearing an azure pair of cowboy boots straggled through the doorway.

"Quick," he yelped, picking up an unusual deck of cards as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Taylor Greer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy smokeroo. Please have a drink," he intimated, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Atlanta that I met him. I was working as a pathologist. He took me to a restaurant called California Harvest. Oh, he seemed eccentric enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grudgingly.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Draco Booth. He works at the bike shop on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cotton balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gorman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cotton ball in Atlanta 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 wailing at the Seven-Eleven when he lurched in and started to sigh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that artistic ruffian," she sobbed.

He handed her a cupcake and she wiped her eyes grudgingly. He noticed her cat suit looked crusty. "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 tummy unexpectedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would destroy my napkin if I didn't pace," she replied. "I said he's a high-strung tarantula. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's high-strung.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Booth?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Atlanta since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gently, "did Mister Booth ever talk about someone named Benjamin Pham?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Gorman 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 treehouse in Istanbul. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cautiously. "I'm nobody's big lug," she barked, "and I don't want to be in Istanbul too long. I hope you can do something about Draco soon."

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

"I can scoot to Istanbul as soon as I pack a box of candy, a letter jacket, and my rope."

"You'd better take a fossil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled uneasily.

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

She rose from her seat and marched curiously out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

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