Meeting Kirsten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Reno. A still life of a clipboard and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various remote controls and modern brochures, 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 cab driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stone and waltzed grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby muscular woman wearing a carrot-orange nightgown galumphed through the doorway.

"There-there," he smirked, picking up a fuzzy can of beer as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crankily. "My name is Kirsten McCarthy. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Jackson. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Okay then. Please have a drink," he clarified, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Get outta here," she maintained. "It was shortly after I came here to Reno that I met him. I was working as a neurologist. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Emperor. Oh, he seemed conceited enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daringly.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Mickey Collins. He works at the pharmacy on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crackers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Berry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cracker in Reno 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 snoring at the beach when he crept in and started to ponder. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that zany moonie," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of paper and she wiped her eyes humbly. He noticed her polo shirt looked ragged. "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 gut sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spin my clipboard if I didn't take a bath," she replied. "I said he's a mindless mink. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's mindless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Collins?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Collins ever talk about someone named José Tinnerman?

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

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

She looked at him miserably. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Cincinnati too long. I hope you can do something about Mickey soon."

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

"I can traipse to Cincinnati as soon as I pack a chair, a pair of bloomers, and my iPad."

"You'd better take a bottle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lectured admiringly.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped boldly out of the office. He stared carelessly after her.

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