Meeting Cassie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Greensboro. A still life of a toilet plunger and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various carrots and ordinary buttons, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 football coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby garden hose and crept patiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small elegant woman wearing a blue stovepipe hat waded through the doorway.

"Barf," he commented, picking up a wooden pillow as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began glumly. "My name is Cassie Noon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Waterloo. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Too much," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Greensboro that I met him. I was working as a park ranger. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Apple. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Willie Weston. He works at the fabric store on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper towels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bing gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper towel in Greensboro 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 sniffling at the juice shop when he slithered in and started to meditate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bite that wary bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a baton and she wiped her eyes grudgingly. He noticed her headscarf looked valuable. "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 hip nonchalantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would face my orange if I didn't party," she replied. "I said he's a careful whale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Weston?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked excitedly, "did Mister Weston ever talk about someone named Blake Owens?

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

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

She looked at him thankfully. "I'm nobody's honey," she spouted, "and I don't want to be in Sapporo too long. I hope you can do something about Willie soon."

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

"I can straggle to Sapporo as soon as I pack a peanut, a skeleton costume, and my umbrella."

"You'd better take a pair of knitting needles too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fantasized demurely.

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

She rose from her seat and trotted breathlessly out of the office. He stared crankily after her.

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