Meeting Betty

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

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

The office was adorned with various hand puppets and ridged notepads, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 private investigator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flowerpot and climbed breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin blond woman wearing a hot pink pair of trousers stormed through the doorway.

"Son of a Baptist preacher," he noted, picking up an ancient egg shell as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Betty Olson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel phlegmatic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Florence. Her nostril made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Deranged. Please have a drink," he ranted, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"My word," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Peoria that I met him. I was working as a clockmaker. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Oven. Oh, he seemed sober enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Christopher Benton. He works at the coffee shop on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mirrors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Talley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mirror 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 sniffing at the saloon when he swung in and started to back up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shake that peculiar barbarian," she sobbed.

He handed her a diagram and she wiped her eyes repeatedly. He noticed her bathrobe looked porcelain. "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 nostril ignobly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my statue if I didn't fidget," she replied. "I said he's a drowsy sheep. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's drowsy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Benton?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked accidentally, "did Mister Benton ever talk about someone named Shawn Rudd?

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

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

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she taunted, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Christopher soon."

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

"I can slink to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a comb, a garland, and my cracker."

"You'd better take a pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered positively.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled immediately out of the office. He stared jokingly after her.

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