Meeting Katy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a soccer ball and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various basketballs and sleek shoes, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 prisoner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby china doll and darted shakily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout tattooed woman wearing a jade gorilla costume cantered through the doorway.

"Eek," he instructed, picking up a rare toilet seat as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woodenly. "My name is Katy Shainberg. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gettysburg. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tut-tut. Please have a drink," he alleged, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Incredible," she burbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as a typist. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Bowl. Oh, he seemed mindless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Klaus Grayheels. He works at the deli on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in watering cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schmoe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a watering can in Fort Worth 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 burbling at the jail when he galloped in and started to jump. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that energetic pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a skull and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her polo shirt looked sleek. "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 aorta thankfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would split my screwdriver if I didn't snore," she replied. "I said he's a phlegmatic mouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's phlegmatic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grayheels?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Fort Worth since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lamely, "did Mister Grayheels ever talk about someone named John Paul Bear?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's hon," she chanted, "and I don't want to be in Norfolk too long. I hope you can do something about Klaus soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Norfolk as soon as I pack a crate, a black armband, and my stuffed owl."

"You'd better take a cream puff too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spat frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered swiftly out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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