Meeting Terri

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Peoria. A still life of a candle and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various toys and speckled tennis rackets, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 sign painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flash drive and skidded wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt large woman wearing a rose beanie inched through the doorway.

"Boom," he repeated, picking up a decrepit piece of candy as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nimbly. "My name is Terri Rutherford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intense. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oceanside. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Who cares. Please have a drink," he instructed, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Durn," she protested. "It was shortly after I came here to Peoria that I met him. I was working as an interior design teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Clover. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sheepishly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Rufus Logan. He works at the barbershop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Burns gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Peoria 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 falling asleep at the poetry reading when he sped in and started to sigh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spit at that comely chump," she sobbed.

He handed her a Barbie doll and she wiped her eyes craftily. He noticed her dress looked magnificent. "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 eyeball nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my stick of gum if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a brilliant ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brilliant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Logan?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Peoria since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked primly, "did Mister Logan ever talk about someone named Dustin Meyer?

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

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

She looked at him languidly. "I'm nobody's buttercup," she debated, "and I don't want to be in Vietnam too long. I hope you can do something about Rufus soon."

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

"I can tramp to Vietnam as soon as I pack a crayon, a skirt, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a chain too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he repeated rapidly.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked sorrowfully out of the office. He stared blankly after her.

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