Meeting Camille

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in St. Petersburg. A still life of a toy and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various baseball bats and handy fishhooks, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 disk jockey, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby roll of duct tape and lurched crossly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky graceful woman wearing a green rain coat crawled through the doorway.

"Great Scott," he declaimed, picking up a peach model airplane as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began trustingly. "My name is Camille Sanabria. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ignoble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arlington. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Quick. Please have a drink," he rambled, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Judas Priest," she sneered. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Petersburg that I met him. I was working as a florist. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Emperor. Oh, he seemed frantic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fondly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Shepard Coons. He works at the flower shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of knitting needles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rodriguez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of knitting needles in St. Petersburg 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 getting dizzy at the pool hall when he whirled in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to investigate that paranoid pook," she sobbed.

He handed her a book and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her corset looked leather. "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 courteously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would chop my chain if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a dismal mare. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dismal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Coons?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in St. Petersburg since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Coons ever talk about someone named Wes Yamamoto?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's precious," she groveled, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Shepard soon."

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

"I can lope to Peoria as soon as I pack a rock, a robe, and my deck of cards."

"You'd better take a pickle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he snarled sheepishly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three dollars as a retainer," she replied primly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cream puffs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and proceeded patiently out of the office. He stared suddenly after her.

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