Meeting Bretta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in West Virginia. A still life of a cigar and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various tote bags and electric garbage cans, relics of his days in Korea. 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 jailer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pack of gum and bounded impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous homely woman wearing a golden towel galloped through the doorway.

"Fie," he argued, picking up a crusty boomerang as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sarcastically. "My name is Bretta Sattler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Worcester. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meow. Please have a drink," he sputtered, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Teehee," she requested. "It was shortly after I came here to West Virginia that I met him. I was working as a postmaster. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's James Baird. He works at the bar on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in vacuum cleaners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Russell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a vacuum cleaner in West Virginia 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 whistling at the pool hall when he galloped in and started to growl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that melancholic laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of painkillers and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her pair of booties looked charming. "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 big toe angrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my bowling ball if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent ant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Baird?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in West Virginia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Baird ever talk about someone named Christopher Flores?

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

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about James soon."

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

"I can sidle to Tallahassee as soon as I pack a flyswatter, a bib, and my antenna."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he drawled lazily.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered miserably out of the office. He stared threateningly after her.

Next Chapter