Meeting Cherise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in the United States. A still life of an ice cream cone and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various curling irons and hideous chairs, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 insurance agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coupon and set out temperamentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied filthy woman wearing a blue pair of Bermuda shorts slid through the doorway.

"Ah," he shouted, picking up a rancid stapler as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lovingly. "My name is Cherise Prater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Savannah. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yippee. Please have a drink," he clarified, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Phew," she declared. "It was shortly after I came here to the United States that I met him. I was working as a truck driver. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Lunchery. Oh, he seemed refined enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Bruno Burke. He works at the drug store on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in handkerchiefs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Boyd gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a handkerchief in the United States 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 chewing at the closet when he scampered in and started to shake. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dump that mournful bugbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a ruler and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her cheerleader's uniform looked aromatic. "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 wrist suspiciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prepare my iPad if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a perky mosquito. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's perky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Burke?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Burke ever talk about someone named Quinn Roman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Boyd 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 igloo in Florida. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him cruelly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she opined, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about Bruno soon."

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

"I can stagger to Florida as soon as I pack a key ring, a pair of handcuffs, and my pumpkin."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed boldly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked cleverly out of the office. He stared arrogantly after her.

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