Meeting Carina
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought blissfully. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling bags of potato chips door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Peoria. A still life of a joint and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various toilet seats and coarse dollhouses, 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 student, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ingot of plutonium and sneaked lamely toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a huge sorrowful woman wearing a striped pair of panties made a beeline through the doorway.
"Very interesting," he mouthed, picking up a luxurious broom as he paraded to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began shyly. "My name is Carina Broderick. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel enchanting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Toronto. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ow. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the canopy bed.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she urged, glancing at the visor he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied zestily.
"Ka-ching," she belched. "It was shortly after I came here to Peoria that I met him. I was working as a reporter. He took me to a restaurant called New York Den. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected kindly.
She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Billy Bob Goldberg. He works at the grocery store on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hand puppets."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Grayheels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hand puppet in Peoria 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 playing solitaire at the library when he waded in and started to gesticulate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a glass of apple juice on that maniacal sneak," she sobbed.
He handed her an oriental vase and she wiped her eyes threateningly. He noticed her coonskin hat looked puzzling. "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 knee vigorously. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would lose my ice cream cone if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's a bald dingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bald.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Goldberg?"
"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Peoria since then."
"I see." He felt for his bomb in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Billy Bob Goldberg is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more tactful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tongue like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and crept for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smelling salts since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked gleefully, "did Mister Goldberg ever talk about someone named Lynn Pough?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a flutter.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Grayheels operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, starlight, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice igloo in Yakima. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him perkily. "I'm nobody's starlight," she muttered, "and I don't want to be in Yakima too long. I hope you can do something about Billy Bob soon."
"I'll do my best, hot stuff. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can barrel to Yakima as soon as I pack a cigar, a bolo tie, and my photograph."
"You'd better take a rubber chicken too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined gingerly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred twenty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied suavely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of file folders. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and galloped wearily out of the office. He stared kindly after her.
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