Meeting Kelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Tehran. A still life of a paperweight and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hot potatoes and overgrown paintings, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 surgeon, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magnet and loped vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous undersized woman wearing a teal jumpsuit strode through the doorway.

"Dang," he blathered, picking up a damaged candy bar as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began mysteriously. "My name is Kelly Pummelly. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel serious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Akron. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh almighty. Please have a drink," he thought, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Woops," she preached. "It was shortly after I came here to Tehran that I met him. I was working as a rodeo cowboy. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Gourmet. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected confidently.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Charlie Allen. He works at the convenience store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in footballs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sloan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a football in Tehran 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 running away at the pool hall when he paraded in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lick that difficult devil," she sobbed.

He handed her a deck of cards and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her helmet looked stuffed. "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 neck nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pick my spinning wheel if I didn't wail," she replied. "I said he's a happy pigeon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Allen?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Tehran since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tearfully, "did Mister Allen ever talk about someone named Robin Gleason?

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

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

She looked at him nicely. "I'm nobody's buddy," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about Charlie soon."

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

"I can sail to Seychelles as soon as I pack a paper towel, a pair of dungarees, and my water bottle."

"You'd better take a bag of potato chips too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned ignobly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eighteen dollars as a retainer," she replied silently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pizzas. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and stalked wearily out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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