Meeting Godiva

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

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

The office was adorned with various cream puffs and ridiculous boxes of Kleenex, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 bus driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bottle of perfume and galloped excitedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge dashing woman wearing a red G-string paraded through the doorway.

"Golly," he maintained, picking up a multicolored microscope as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began diligently. "My name is Godiva Wicker. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cocky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rochester. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he whined, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Scurvy dog," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Ohio that I met him. I was working as a barista. He took me to a restaurant called California Fiesta. Oh, he seemed depraved enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Lex Minturn. He works at the art gallery on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dodds gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a biscuit in Ohio 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 saloon when he tramped in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frighten that monstrous oddball," she sobbed.

He handed her an etching and she wiped her eyes sympathetically. He noticed her headband looked nifty. "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 skull irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would empty my iPad if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's an adorable dodo bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Minturn?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked later, "did Mister Minturn ever talk about someone named Tyler Tooker?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Dodds operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sugar-bun, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice motel in Benin. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him lazily. "I'm nobody's sugar-bun," she bawled, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Lex soon."

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

"I can stroll to Benin as soon as I pack a cigar, a pair of ear muffs, and my coin."

"You'd better take a paper bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he protested courteously.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled crossly out of the office. He stared viciously after her.

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