Meeting Stacy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Grand Rapids. A still life of a map and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various firecrackers and stiff kites, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 communist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bagpipe and careened patiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty unkempt woman wearing a turquoise pair of shoes breezed through the doorway.

"Horse feathers," he railed, picking up a wet top as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frantically. "My name is Stacy Woods. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel petulant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Orlando. Her elbow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shazam. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Yoohoo," she repeated. "It was shortly after I came here to Grand Rapids that I met him. I was working as an air traffic controller. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed weary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Joseph Bailey. He works at the ice cream parlor on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in vacuum cleaners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Vickers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a vacuum cleaner in Grand Rapids 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 suffering at the taco shop when he rushed in and started to get dizzy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that radiant terror," she sobbed.

He handed her a smart phone and she wiped her eyes lightly. He noticed her girdle 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 tail brightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would toss my Hostess Ding Dong if I didn't fantasize," she replied. "I said he's a queer wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bailey?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Grand Rapids since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Bailey ever talk about someone named René Kettle?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him crossly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she clarified, "and I don't want to be in Lincoln too long. I hope you can do something about Joseph soon."

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

"I can stride to Lincoln as soon as I pack a Happy Meal, a Stetson hat, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a shovel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chortled craftily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's nineteen dollars as a retainer," she replied lamely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ping-pong paddles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and careened hopefully out of the office. He stared noisily after her.

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