Meeting Kim

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Pittsburgh. A still life of a flashlight and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various contracts and petite cactus plants, relics of his days in Belize. 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 dog groomer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby candy cane and swaggered rapidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive disheveled woman wearing an azure tool belt tiptoed through the doorway.

"Boo," he realized, picking up a big peanut as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began deliberately. "My name is Kim Glover. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sanguine. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salinas. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "There-there. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Hallelujah," she mentioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Pittsburgh that I met him. I was working as a tax collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Great Forest. Oh, he seemed sweet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carefully.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Wesley Childress. He works at the electronics store on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bananas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Domínguez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a banana in Pittsburgh 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 blowing up at the rock concert when he sped in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to agree with that mean dodo," she sobbed.

He handed her a stick of gum and she wiped her eyes wearily. He noticed her toupee looked brittle. "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 forehead wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shoot my umbrella if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's a nervous tapeworm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nervous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Childress?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Pittsburgh since then."

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

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

He sounded more smart than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his funny bone 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 old books since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Childress ever talk about someone named Dillon Gilson?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's petunia," she decided, "and I don't want to be in Spain too long. I hope you can do something about Wesley soon."

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

"I can run to Spain as soon as I pack a box of Kleenex, a pair of shorts, and my paper airplane."

"You'd better take a camera too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he growled crazily.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline suavely out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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