Meeting Carolyn

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 advertisements door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Memphis. A still life of a cookie and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various telephone books and used garbage cans, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 librarian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby watering can and traipsed busily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe blond woman wearing a grey girdle cantered through the doorway.

"Jeez," he sniveled, picking up a damaged paddle as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Carolyn Bristol. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lake Placid. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Roger that. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"Roger," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Memphis that I met him. I was working as a singer. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Restaurant. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's Joel van Veen. He works at the library on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Crawford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coin in Memphis 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 vomiting at the ski resort when he tramped in and started to go limp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to push that corpulent snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a cowbell and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her badge looked ragged. "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 claw majestically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would forget my fingernail clipper if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a crafty rat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crafty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Veen?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Memphis since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked primly, "did Mister Van Veen ever talk about someone named JD Kraft?

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

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

She looked at him arrogantly. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she harangued, "and I don't want to be in Philadelphia too long. I hope you can do something about Joel soon."

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

"I can walk to Philadelphia as soon as I pack a calculator, a pair of nylons, and my calling card."

"You'd better take a bouquet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he worried sadly.

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

She rose from her seat and strolled charmingly out of the office. He stared slowly after her.

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