Meeting Bettie Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Utah. A still life of a pen and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various sacks and automatic cans of beer, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 bullfighter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spool of thread and waltzed daringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky muscular woman wearing a brown body shirt proceeded through the doorway.

"Zap," he lamented, picking up a fabulous primrose as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Bettie Lou Gardner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oceanside. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aaaw. Please have a drink," he smirked, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the workbench.

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

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

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

"Blah blah blah," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to Utah that I met him. I was working as a neurologist. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific House. Oh, he seemed impish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Desmond Milano. He works at the cigar store on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in lollipops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Soto gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a lollipop in Utah 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 playing Duck Duck Goose at the Seven-Eleven when he sashayed in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to remember that wily moonie," she sobbed.

He handed her a hip flask and she wiped her eyes wildly. He noticed her straitjacket looked wet. "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 ear energetically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would gold plate my coat check ticket if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's a dark prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dark.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Milano?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Utah since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Milano ever talk about someone named Ray Garston?

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

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

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's treasure," she asked, "and I don't want to be in Tahiti too long. I hope you can do something about Desmond soon."

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

"I can slip to Tahiti as soon as I pack a primrose, a pocket watch, and my bat."

"You'd better take a jar of olives too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded vigorously.

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

She rose from her seat and tore coolly out of the office. He stared breathlessly after her.

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