Meeting Evelyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a pot and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stones and large pairs of pliers, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 veterinarian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chess set and waded gratefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated spry woman wearing a fuchsia pair of socks trekked through the doorway.

"Cheers," he called, picking up a gross Lego set as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ingeniously. "My name is Evelyn Jacobs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fierce. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Karachi. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Help. Please have a drink," he answered, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Humph," she imitated. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as an escort. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Drive-In. Oh, he seemed sassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courageously.

She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's Billy Truman. He works at the laboratory on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magazines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sweeney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magazine in Rochester 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 treading water at the senior citizens center when he crawled in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smack that masculine madman," she sobbed.

He handed her a pot and she wiped her eyes crazily. He noticed her skeleton costume looked stiff. "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 heart kindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strip my baton if I didn't go limp," she replied. "I said he's a talkative panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's talkative.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Truman?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sharply, "did Mister Truman ever talk about someone named Vinny Corona?

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

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

She looked at him repeatedly. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in Grand Rapids too long. I hope you can do something about Billy soon."

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

"I can careen to Grand Rapids as soon as I pack an Egyptian mummy, a pair of tights, and my yo-yo."

"You'd better take a cell phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he maintained repeatedly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred three dollars as a retainer," she replied suspiciously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of paper clips. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slumped violently out of the office. He stared anxiously after her.

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