Meeting Brooke

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Washington. A still life of a mirror and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bird cages and funny iPads, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 lecturer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tennis racket and walked hopelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky smallish woman wearing a brown blazer inched through the doorway.

"Quick," he gasped, picking up a hand-made business card as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Brooke Adams. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel powerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Des Moines. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why. Please have a drink," he informed, handing her a cup of tea and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Can it," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington that I met him. I was working as a rabble rouser. He took me to a restaurant called London Diner. Oh, he seemed petulant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected perkily.

She stared into her cup of tea. "His name's Thad Tiller. He works at the laboratory on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jacobsen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Washington 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 staring into space at the recycling bin when he ambled in and started to howl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to praise that affable hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a teapot and she wiped her eyes strictly. He noticed her bomber jacket looked authentic. "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 femur merrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lynch my coffee pot if I didn't go limp," she replied. "I said he's a forgetful beetle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's forgetful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tiller?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Washington since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Tiller ever talk about someone named Sig Gomez?

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

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

She looked at him reluctantly. "I'm nobody's radiant starlight," she chuckled, "and I don't want to be in the United Kingdom too long. I hope you can do something about Thad soon."

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

"I can slump to the United Kingdom as soon as I pack a screwdriver, a mask, and my jar of olives."

"You'd better take a ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squealed reluctantly.

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

She rose from her seat and marched humbly out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

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