Meeting Betsy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in South Bend. A still life of a nail and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sponges and original skulls, relics of his days in England. 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 handyman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper airplane and bolted repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny blue-eyed woman wearing a green pair of earmuffs darted through the doorway.

"I'll drink to that," he simpered, picking up a valuable yardstick as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Betsy Barry. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charleston. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For the love of Pete. Please have a drink," he rebutted, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

"Don't give it another thought," he replied lickety-split.

"Dang it," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to South Bend that I met him. I was working as a designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed awkward enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grandly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Daniel Ostrander. He works at the tobacco shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of toothpaste."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carpenter gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in South Bend 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 huffing at the disco when he ran in and started to nod. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reassure that impish harebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her an ice cream cone and she wiped her eyes gruffly. He noticed her jumpsuit looked gooey. "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 pancreas dubiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my ping-pong paddle if I didn't hiccup," she replied. "I said he's a stern mare. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ostrander?"

"Only a second; I've only been in South Bend since then."

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked proudly, "did Mister Ostrander ever talk about someone named Fido Simmons?

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

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

She looked at him urgently. "I'm nobody's pookie," she howled, "and I don't want to be in Mozambique too long. I hope you can do something about Daniel soon."

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

"I can waddle to Mozambique as soon as I pack a diamond, a locket, and my battery."

"You'd better take a candy bar too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed softly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred ninety-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied jokingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of guns. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and tore gingerly out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

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