Meeting Charlene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Little Rock. A still life of a billfold and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various backpacks and plain clothespins, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 restaurant owner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and staggered frantically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine massive woman wearing a striped derby bolted through the doorway.

"Poppycock," he raved, picking up a bronze clock as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Charlene Campbell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Anchorage. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Freaky. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the cash register.

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

"This is difficult for me," she uttered, glancing at the pair of false eyelashes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Just a minute," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Little Rock that I met him. I was working as a fitness trainer. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Urn. Oh, he seemed bizarre enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woefully.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Broderick Woolsey. He works at the café on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pain pills."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pain pill in Little Rock 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 sighing at the radio station when he walked in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sting that disgusting dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a package and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her winter coat looked well worn. "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 skin blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would seize my remote control if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a cunning baboon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cunning.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Woolsey?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Little Rock since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Woolsey ever talk about someone named Howard Hall?

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

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

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she yammered, "and I don't want to be in California too long. I hope you can do something about Broderick soon."

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

"I can speed to California as soon as I pack a trash can, a gown, and my dog biscuit."

"You'd better take a microscope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed strictly out of the office. He stared demurely after her.

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