Meeting Hallie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a comb and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pom-poms and archaic notebooks, relics of his days in India. 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 huckster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clam and made a beeline uneasily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy cadaverous woman wearing a salmon fig leaf bolted through the doorway.

"Barf," he rumored, picking up a fuzzy Frisbee as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Hallie Swaanhof. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel demented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Carlsbad. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dadgum. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Ultimate," she chortled. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a bodyguard. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Restaurant. Oh, he seemed happy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Randall Murphy. He works at the office supply store on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the De Leon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Rochester 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 burbling at the laundromat when he zoomed in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that rude snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a Happy Meal and she wiped her eyes gruffly. He noticed her camisole looked coarse. "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 paw breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would protect my amulet if I didn't scribble," she replied. "I said he's a cowardly hippopotamus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cowardly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Murphy?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gleefully, "did Mister Murphy ever talk about someone named Nathan Wilhelm?

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

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

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Alaska too long. I hope you can do something about Randall soon."

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

"I can dive to Alaska as soon as I pack a needle and thread, a moustache, and my bucket."

"You'd better take an African violet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed sleepily.

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

She rose from her seat and strode busily out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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