Meeting Callie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Philadelphia. A still life of a hair brush and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various coupons and rusty candy canes, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 inventor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil and barrelled silently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely bald woman wearing a periwinkle pair of overalls capered through the doorway.

"Righto," he smirked, picking up a primitive stick of gum as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Callie Sanders. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rockford. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowsers. Please have a drink," he stated, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Omigosh," she stormed. "It was shortly after I came here to Philadelphia that I met him. I was working as a typist. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed bold enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected jokingly.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Mason Werner. He works at the sandwich shop on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in nails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rebensdorf gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a nail in Philadelphia 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 blowing up at the bowling alley when he ran in and started to catch up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to charm that haughty lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a stone and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her veil looked stiff. "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 toe effortlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smash my dollhouse if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a friendly weasel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's friendly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Werner?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Philadelphia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked thankfully, "did Mister Werner ever talk about someone named Demetrius Gutierrez?

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

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

She looked at him majestically. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can straggle to Mongolia as soon as I pack a doll, a poncho, and my boomerang."

"You'd better take a pacifier too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screamed uselessly.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled smoothly out of the office. He stared grudgingly after her.

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