Meeting Beulah

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in El Paso. A still life of a spittoon and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rolls of duct tape and cotton towels, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 machinist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pail and bolted timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky pallid woman wearing an orange corset padded through the doorway.

"Chirp," he recited, picking up a dirty bottle as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began greedily. "My name is Beulah Boyce. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gallant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Paris. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aye. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Godspeed," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to El Paso that I met him. I was working as a gemcutter. He took me to a restaurant called Cindy's Village. Oh, he seemed conceited enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Gunther Bear. He works at the music store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in vases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Zmarzly gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a vase in El Paso 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 stepping aside at the Wal-Mart when he stalked in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bury that bellicose hack," she sobbed.

He handed her a baseball and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her midi skirt looked art deco. "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 pituitary gland thoughtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whirl my purse if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal dromedary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bear?"

"Only a day; I've only been in El Paso since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Bear ever talk about someone named Doug Cadwallader?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him sagely. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she affirmed, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Gunther soon."

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

"I can slump to Peoria as soon as I pack a cream puff, a pair of trousers, and my pillow."

"You'd better take a contract too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused sweetly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove vacantly out of the office. He stared suavely after her.

Next Chapter