Meeting Hayley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Rio. A still life of a bag of ice and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clams and nice bird cages, relics of his days in Denmark. 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil and galloped uselessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby well-built woman wearing a magenta straitjacket breezed through the doorway.

"Yowie," he snorted, picking up a hand-carved Helmholz resonator as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carelessly. "My name is Hayley Sokoloff. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weird. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chula Vista. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aha. Please have a drink," he giggled, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Far out," she contended. "It was shortly after I came here to Rio that I met him. I was working as a secretary. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Taqueria. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected surreptitiously.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Victor Stevenson. He works at the used car lot on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed kittens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Spanbauer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed kitten in Rio 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 catching up at the juice shop when he galloped in and started to run. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that friendly laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a cane and she wiped her eyes wildly. He noticed her pair of dungarees looked slimy. "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 nostril ignobly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would balance my pepper grinder if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's a relaxed swan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's relaxed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stevenson?"

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

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

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

He sounded more repulsive than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and freaked out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like mint since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tenderly, "did Mister Stevenson ever talk about someone named Franklin Borkowski?

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

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

She looked at him peevishly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she grieved, "and I don't want to be in Lincoln too long. I hope you can do something about Victor soon."

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

"I can inch to Lincoln as soon as I pack a hockey puck, a blouse, and my flower."

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

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied tenderly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cupcakes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and trotted patiently out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

Next Chapter