Meeting Brittany

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a purse and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pipes and rough beach balls, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 parent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookbook and struggled sarcastically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender tattooed woman wearing a striped poncho pranced through the doorway.

"Diddly bunk," he pointed out, picking up a smooth notebook as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began perkily. "My name is Brittany McKenzie. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dependable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fremont. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm outta here. Please have a drink," he begged, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Neato," she vouched. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as a masseuse. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Blossom. Oh, he seemed sinister enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Sanjay Cornish. He works at the antique store on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in grease guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kuta gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a grease gun in Fort Worth 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 playing Farmer in the Dell at the disco when he lurched in and started to scribble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shave that carefree quacker," she sobbed.

He handed her a daisy and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her bedsheet looked weird. "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 claw arrogantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refine my bag of groceries if I didn't sleep," she replied. "I said he's an enthusiastic hog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enthusiastic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cornish?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Fort Worth since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Cornish ever talk about someone named Eduardo Halperin?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's dreamboat," she persisted, "and I don't want to be in Pennsylvania too long. I hope you can do something about Sanjay soon."

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

"I can sail to Pennsylvania as soon as I pack a stamp, a big red rose, and my cardboard box."

"You'd better take a photograph too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spat menacingly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed despondently out of the office. He stared brashly after her.

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