Meeting Susanna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Billings. A still life of a toilet plunger and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various baskets and stolen pieces of paper, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 pediatrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hot potato and bolted hopelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous fair woman wearing an ivory pair of flip-flops ambled through the doorway.

"Yeehah," he belched, picking up a porcelain diamond as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Susanna Sartre. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubborn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Overland Park. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Geez Louise. Please have a drink," he cried, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"By all the saints," she avowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Billings that I met him. I was working as a songwriter. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Forest. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Jake Hill. He works at the shoe store on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in staplers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fulton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stapler in Billings 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 frazzled at the recycling bin when he lumbered in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hypnotize that grizzled flouting milksop," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of headphones and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously. He noticed her pair of false eyelashes looked papery. "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 leg grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ruin my pair of fuzzy dice if I didn't peep," she replied. "I said he's a bizarre crocodile. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bizarre.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hill?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Billings since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked jokingly, "did Mister Hill ever talk about someone named Horsie Grant?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's babe," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Tehran too long. I hope you can do something about Jake soon."

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

"I can tramp to Tehran as soon as I pack a Big Gulp, a pair of jackboots, and my paperclip."

"You'd better take a business card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cackled miserably.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked effortlessly out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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