Meeting Kathy

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought sleepily. 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 ninth floor of an aging building in Louisiana. A still life of a church key and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bottles and wet wastebaskets, relics of his days in Peru. 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 violinist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and lumbered majestically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied adorable woman wearing a magenta gorilla suit sneaked through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he instructed, picking up a luxurious coat hanger as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gingerly. "My name is Kathy Carson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel absent-minded. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By all the saints. Please have a drink," he murmured, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Remarkable," she intimated. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisiana that I met him. I was working as a philanthropist. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Dragon. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gruffly.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Lorenzo Harrison. He works at the bar on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGill gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rock in Louisiana 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 staring into space at the library when he padded in and started to ruminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that sincere boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a mushroom and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her sport coat looked overgrown. "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 ear coldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would jump on my skull if I didn't shrivel," she replied. "I said he's a powerful beagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Harrison?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Louisiana since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fearfully, "did Mister Harrison ever talk about someone named Kellen Moretti?

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

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

She looked at him shakily. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she emphasized, "and I don't want to be in Angola too long. I hope you can do something about Lorenzo soon."

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

"I can reel to Angola as soon as I pack a sea shell, an award medal, and my fishing rod."

"You'd better take a button too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed openly.

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

She rose from her seat and darted brightly out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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