Meeting Audra

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Bakersfield. A still life of a serpent and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stacks of papers and magnificent dog collars, relics of his days in Australia. 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 dog walker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby china doll and lumbered dolorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump frizzle-headed woman wearing a white tie tumbled through the doorway.

"Why," he yelped, picking up a brittle rose as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began clumsily. "My name is Audra Bergstrom. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cowardly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Stockton. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great Caesar's ghost. Please have a drink," he invited, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Dag nabbit," she intimated. "It was shortly after I came here to Bakersfield that I met him. I was working as a cardiologist. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Kettle. Oh, he seemed impish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Rufus Draney. He works at the nail salon on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in basketballs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tinnerman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a basketball in Bakersfield 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 lying down at the Wal-Mart when he rolled in and started to think. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that frightened cretin," she sobbed.

He handed her a spittoon and she wiped her eyes cruelly. He noticed her earring looked cardboard. "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 belly button thankfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expand my bullet if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's a careful horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Draney?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Bakersfield since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wearily, "did Mister Draney ever talk about someone named Wilson Holiday?

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

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

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she complained, "and I don't want to be in Argentina too long. I hope you can do something about Rufus soon."

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

"I can lumber to Argentina as soon as I pack a bag of ice, a tutu, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a pair of knitting needles too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exploded crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed daringly out of the office. He stared zestily after her.

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