Meeting Charlotte

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Orlando. A still life of a pom-pom and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pillows and golden chains, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 real estate investor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish bowl and made a beeline humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny spindly woman wearing a lavender baseball cap slipped through the doorway.

"Phew," he bellowed, picking up a hand-made Bunsen burner as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began temperamentally. "My name is Charlotte Bates. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mobile. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now what?. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Yow," she maintained. "It was shortly after I came here to Orlando that I met him. I was working as a veterinarian. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Cafe. Oh, he seemed lazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gracefully.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Casey Case. He works at the candy store on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in garbage cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sinclair gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a garbage can in Orlando 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 hollering at the juice shop when he blundered in and started to grow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that boring big oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a potato and she wiped her eyes crazily. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked ridged. "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 toupee surreptitiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stitch my vacuum cleaner if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a stern monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Case?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Orlando since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Case ever talk about someone named Frankie Minturn?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she instructed, "and I don't want to be in Venezuela too long. I hope you can do something about Casey soon."

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

"I can crawl to Venezuela as soon as I pack a daisy, a surgical mask, and my ball."

"You'd better take a vase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stuttered steadily.

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

She rose from her seat and strode cunningly out of the office. He stared solemnly after her.

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