Meeting Bobbie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Huntsville. A still life of a padlock and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hockey pucks and leather spiders, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 professional dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby screwdriver and stormed lightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely blond woman wearing a metallic red pair of earmuffs crawled through the doorway.

"Yep," he divulged, picking up a modern baby doll as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began brashly. "My name is Bobbie Nilsson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gettysburg. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By Jove. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Rubbish," she articulated. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as an elementary school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Tiger. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected properly.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Walter Harrison. He works at the beauty salon on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of soup."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Briggs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of soup in Huntsville 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 waiting at the ski slope when he flounced in and started to huff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to compliment that freakish egomaniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of ice and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her bowler hat looked dirty. "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 appendix craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clean my pearl if I didn't primp," she replied. "I said he's a sophisticated butterfly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sophisticated.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Harrison?"

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

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

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

He sounded more conscientious 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 trembled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like bubble gum since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked excitedly, "did Mister Harrison ever talk about someone named Quentin Cosak?

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

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

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Austin too long. I hope you can do something about Walter soon."

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

"I can careen to Austin as soon as I pack a cream puff, a turtleneck, and my clam."

"You'd better take a diary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued arrogantly.

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

She rose from her seat and inched dolefully out of the office. He stared uneasily after her.

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