Meeting Priscilla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Grand Rapids. A still life of a model airplane and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various advertisements and shiny cupcakes, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 factory worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ice cream cone and straggled sarcastically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous angelic woman wearing an ivory pair of jackboots proceeded through the doorway.

"At last," he argued, picking up a funny box as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sleepily. "My name is Priscilla Dodd. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubborn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yikes. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the settee.

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

"This is difficult for me," she howled, glancing at the pair of moon boots he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Pshaw," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Grand Rapids that I met him. I was working as a jazz musician. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Home. Oh, he seemed fiendish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Joel Mohammadian. He works at the bookstore on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Abbey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower 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 barking at the restaurant when he tumbled in and started to fidget. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that pert donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her vest looked gooey. "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 thorax slyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would puncture my broom if I didn't gaze," she replied. "I said he's a gentle seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gentle.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mohammadian?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Mohammadian ever talk about someone named Boots Eastwood?

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

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

She looked at him grimly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she hollered, "and I don't want to be in Montgomery too long. I hope you can do something about Joel soon."

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

"I can saunter to Montgomery as soon as I pack a pizza, a ski mask, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a doily too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked numbly.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled coolly out of the office. He stared delicately after her.

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