Meeting Claudia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Tallahassee. A still life of a pop bottle and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various magnets and fuzzy coupons, relics of his days in Peru. 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 horse trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby padlock and zipped properly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony muscular woman wearing a brilliant orange cat suit set out through the doorway.

"At last," he worried, picking up a peculiar cork as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began breathlessly. "My name is Claudia Velasquez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aha. Please have a drink," he reasoned, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Gosh almighty," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Tallahassee that I met him. I was working as a surgeon. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Emporium. Oh, he seemed statuesque enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected charmingly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Wallace Hartley. He works at the malt shop on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in key rings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Riggs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key ring in Tallahassee 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 shrugging at the ski slope when he traipsed in and started to laugh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peek at that brazen rapscallion," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of candy and she wiped her eyes wildly. He noticed her pith helmet looked plastic. "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 kneecap anxiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rock my bullet if I didn't wink," she replied. "I said he's a distressed gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's distressed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hartley?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Tallahassee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked timidly, "did Mister Hartley ever talk about someone named Dustin Porterfield?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she squawked, "and I don't want to be in Alabama too long. I hope you can do something about Wallace soon."

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

"I can reel to Alabama as soon as I pack a pen, a belly button jewel, and my primrose."

"You'd better take an amulet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked vacantly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked frenetically out of the office. He stared warmly after her.

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