Meeting Taylor

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Delaware. A still life of an etching and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of fuzzy dice and polished crackers, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 real estate agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby computer and darted openly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge pallid woman wearing an olive green denim skirt bounced through the doorway.

"Ugh," he asserted, picking up a nifty telephone as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began defiantly. "My name is Taylor Dorn. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enchanting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sapporo. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy minerva. Please have a drink," he concluded, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Alas," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to Delaware that I met him. I was working as a chimney sweep. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Knife. Oh, he seemed playful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strictly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Zed Roman. He works at the café on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peace pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Custer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peace pipe in Delaware 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 dawdling at the party when he galumphed in and started to party. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that tall wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a camera and she wiped her eyes patiently. He noticed her pair of combat boots looked worn. "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 piehole blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spray my saw if I didn't frown," she replied. "I said he's a prissy wolf. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prissy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Roman?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Delaware since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Roman ever talk about someone named Lee Spooner?

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

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

She looked at him sternly. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in the Solomon Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Zed soon."

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

"I can careen to the Solomon Islands as soon as I pack a fossil, a nightgown, and my box of candy."

"You'd better take a pigeon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused primly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered courteously out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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