Meeting Lorena

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a compass and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paper airplanes and crisp diaries, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 chief of police, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pumpkin and flounced again toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky slick woman wearing a chocolate brown bowler hat jogged through the doorway.

"Boy howdy," he exclaimed, picking up a stiff stuffed kitten as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nervously. "My name is Lorena Schmidt. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel paranoid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cheyenne. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hey. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Teehee," she queried. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a bottle of perfume salesman. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Star. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected boisterously.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Nils Rodriguez. He works at the dry cleaner on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beer."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kollmorgen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beer in Colorado 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 shivering at the jail when he crept in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to embarrass that insane hothead," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber stamp and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her feather boa looked brightly-colored. "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 heart grimly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would jab my crate if I didn't sneeze," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rodriguez?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Colorado since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked silently, "did Mister Rodriguez ever talk about someone named Plato Stringer?

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

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in Denver too long. I hope you can do something about Nils soon."

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

"I can struggle to Denver as soon as I pack a blanket, a pair of khakis, and my hockey puck."

"You'd better take a rock too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred shyly.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed lovingly out of the office. He stared gingerly after her.

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