Meeting Frances

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Kalamazoo. A still life of a pepper grinder and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Rubik's cubes and art deco whoopee cushions, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 electrical engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby salt shaker and barrelled queerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic flabby woman wearing a metallic red wristwatch struggled through the doorway.

"Nuts," he sighed, picking up an archaic daisy as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began openly. "My name is Frances Cox. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brazen. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tucson. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Barf. Please have a drink," he disputed, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Adios," she muttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Kalamazoo that I met him. I was working as a librarian. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic House. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Bud Bertrand. He works at the beauty salon on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candy bars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Covington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candy bar in Kalamazoo 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 Duck Duck Goose at the disco when he hopped in and started to faint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to subdue that relaxed buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a bucket and she wiped her eyes narrowly. He noticed her gown looked electric. "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 foot uselessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my flash drive if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a carefree Siamese cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's carefree.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bertrand?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Kalamazoo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister Bertrand ever talk about someone named Tyler Grigsby?

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

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

She looked at him courageously. "I'm nobody's nipkin," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Topeka too long. I hope you can do something about Bud soon."

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

"I can rush to Topeka as soon as I pack a chair, a gunny sack, and my firecracker."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated stupidly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed vigorously out of the office. He stared hastily after her.

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