Meeting Lorena

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Norway. A still life of a backpack and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various diaries and jagged xylophones, relics of his days in Kosovo. 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 telemarketer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby key ring and ambled neatly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied emaciated woman wearing an indigo bonnet swaggered through the doorway.

"Whoa," he intoned, picking up a mechanical peanut as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel hungry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Feh. Please have a drink," he articulated, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Blecch," she winked. "It was shortly after I came here to Norway that I met him. I was working as a dog trainer. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Lotus. Oh, he seemed freakish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cleverly.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Babyface Swoopes. He works at the storage unit on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in water bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Benishek gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a water bottle in Norway 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 dilly-dallying at the health club when he zoomed in and started to sweat. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to apologize to that crafty buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her smartwatch looked gleaming. "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 midriff proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would break my stamp if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a suave crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Swoopes?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Norway 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 Babyface Swoopes is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more drowsy 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 whirled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like freshly baked cookies since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lightly, "did Mister Swoopes ever talk about someone named Steven Griggs?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's treasure," she recited, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Babyface soon."

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

"I can stalk to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a teacup, a party hat, and my bottle of painkillers."

"You'd better take a can of beans too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he scoffed doubtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked clumsily out of the office. He stared slowly after her.

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