Meeting Loretta

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 cell phones door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Arkansas. A still life of a dish and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paper airplanes and plastic chairs, relics of his days in Albania. 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 sign painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hat and zipped slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard flabby woman wearing a crimson wet suit stalked through the doorway.

"Bam," he whined, picking up a flexible ironing board as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began resignedly. "My name is Loretta Smiley. 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 Hong Kong. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yahoo. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Cease and desist," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Arkansas that I met him. I was working as an attorney. He took me to a restaurant called Southern House. Oh, he seemed depraved enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected queerly.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Rover de Leon. He works at the pub on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Adams gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a biscuit in Arkansas 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 fainting at the school cafeteria when he proceeded in and started to gaze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to banish that paranoid clapperdudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a diagram and she wiped her eyes carefully. He noticed her toga looked burned. "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 suspiciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my snail if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's a high-strung Pekingese. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's high-strung.'"

"How long have you known Mr. De Leon?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Arkansas since then."

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

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

He sounded more bizarre 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 swooned for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smelling salts since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister De Leon ever talk about someone named Jeffrey Simons?

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

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

She looked at him daintily. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she tittered, "and I don't want to be in Upper Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Rover soon."

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

"I can walk to Upper Mongolia as soon as I pack a cupcake, a jumper, and my bottle of perfume."

"You'd better take a biscuit too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gabbed valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled grudgingly out of the office. He stared grimly after her.

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