Meeting Wesley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Ohio. A still life of a Bunsen burner and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fingernail clippers and archaic sea shells, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stamp and sped threateningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious cadaverous woman wearing a brown bowler hat galumphed through the doorway.

"Eek," he sneered, picking up a crusty can of sardines as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began flightily. "My name is Wesley Beluchi. 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 Gettysburg. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Congratulations. Please have a drink," he hollered, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Gee whiz," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Ohio that I met him. I was working as an astronaut. He took me to a restaurant called China Bar & Grill. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strictly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Josh Hartley. He works at the pharmacy on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corncobs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ullman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corncob in Ohio 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 curtseying at the senior citizens center when he tiptoed in and started to buzz. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to glare at that dark good-for-nothing," she sobbed.

He handed her a painting and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her helmet looked petite. "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 artery demurely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would finish my paper clip if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a clever spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's clever.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hartley?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Ohio since then."

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

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

He sounded more modest than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his spinal cord like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and swooned for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Calvin Klein since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister Hartley ever talk about someone named Horace Blanco?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ullman 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 hotel in West Virginia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's buddy," she voiced, "and I don't want to be in West Virginia too long. I hope you can do something about Josh soon."

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

"I can zoom to West Virginia as soon as I pack a coin, a false beard, and my pain pill."

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

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

She rose from her seat and careened unexpectedly out of the office. He stared curiously after her.

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