Meeting Bonnie

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

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

The office was cluttered with various spinning wheels and papery pinwheels, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 messenger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baseball bat and clambered pitifully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe emaciated woman wearing an olive drab corsage blundered through the doorway.

"Nope," he harangued, picking up a thick business card as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Bonnie Hillman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel haughty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lexington. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Totally rad. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"Crikey," she provoked. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a geologist. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Barn. Oh, he seemed brash enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Aiden Wales. He works at the bus station on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paintings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Flake gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a painting in Modesto 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 knitting at the Wal-Mart when he crawled in and started to fulminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that bizarre lamebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a dollar bill and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her tam o'shanter looked damp. "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 mouth pitifully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would banish my pair of fuzzy dice if I didn't cough," she replied. "I said he's a cuddly hippopotamus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cuddly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wales?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Modesto since then."

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

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

He sounded more blubbery than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his lung like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and bounced for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like June roses since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Wales ever talk about someone named Wilbur Bing?

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

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

She looked at him intensely. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Argentina too long. I hope you can do something about Aiden soon."

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

"I can climb to Argentina as soon as I pack a pacifier, a cummerbund, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take an arrowhead too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chortled dolefully.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered openly out of the office. He stared awkwardly after her.

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