Meeting Candy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a duffel bag and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various spoons and burned notepads, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 rock musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and zipped reluctantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender angelic woman wearing a carrot-orange pair of jackboots ran through the doorway.

"Absolutely," he urged, picking up a nifty ice cream cone as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began thankfully. "My name is Candy Coleman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel homely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Calgary. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Marvelous. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Holy frijole," she boomed. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a race car driver. He took me to a restaurant called China Counter. Oh, he seemed awkward enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected frenetically.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Tyler Graham. He works at the clothing store on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in elephant tusks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bogart gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an elephant tusk 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 getting angry at the Elvis chapel when he scurried in and started to go limp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dumbfound that comely wimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a hat and she wiped her eyes blindly. He noticed her sweatshirt looked fabulous. "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 front tooth glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would freeze my saddle if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's an artistic dachshund. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Graham?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked queerly, "did Mister Graham ever talk about someone named Nick Cain?

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

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

She looked at him stealthily. "I'm nobody's love," she suggested, "and I don't want to be in Green Bay too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

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

"I can gallop to Green Bay as soon as I pack a stick, a fez, and my pencil sharpener."

"You'd better take an iPod too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he agreed crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced lovingly out of the office. He stared demurely after her.

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