Meeting Coleen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Utah. A still life of a daisy and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bouquets and heavy charts, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 elementary school teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toilet plunger and stormed temperamentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard redheaded woman wearing a white burqa swaggered through the doorway.

"Yep," he rambled, picking up a cheap hot potato as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began victoriously. "My name is Coleen Snively. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crafty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ottawa. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy buckets. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Holy smokeroo," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Utah that I met him. I was working as a social worker. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Table. Oh, he seemed high-strung enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hungrily.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Timothy Selby. He works at the haberdashery on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bugles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bromley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bugle in Utah 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 wandering at the carnival when he ran in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that brash wraith," she sobbed.

He handed her a Helmholz resonator and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her diamond necklace looked damaged. "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 brain admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would brandish my doily if I didn't dilly-dally," she replied. "I said he's a distressed wolverine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's distressed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Selby?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Utah since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sarcastically, "did Mister Selby ever talk about someone named Roy Allison?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's Pinky," she mentioned, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Timothy soon."

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

"I can slither to Benin as soon as I pack a box, a gunny sack, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a stuffed bunny too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained sweetly.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered queerly out of the office. He stared curiously after her.

Next Chapter