Meeting Emmeline

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a clarinet and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various twigs and worn footballs, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 pathologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hammer and bounced defiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short thin woman wearing a maroon bow tie flounced through the doorway.

"Ooh," he raved, picking up a well worn telephone as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Emmeline Osborne. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Halifax. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thunderation. Please have a drink," he croaked, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

"This is difficult for me," she retorted, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Sure," she trumpeted. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as an engineer. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Emporium. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Corbin Yoshida. He works at the pizza joint on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in statues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Webb gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a statue 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 getting away at the mosque when he blundered in and started to cheer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that spindly animal," she sobbed.

He handed her a pumpkin and she wiped her eyes neatly. He noticed her cheerleader's uniform looked hollow. "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 hand deftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would chisel my cell phone if I didn't blink," she replied. "I said he's a spindly crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spindly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yoshida?"

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

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

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

He sounded more relaxed than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly 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 success since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked cruelly, "did Mister Yoshida ever talk about someone named Nick Thurman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Webb operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cutie-patootie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice sand castle in Topeka. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him unexpectedly. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Topeka too long. I hope you can do something about Corbin soon."

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

"I can lurch to Topeka as soon as I pack a wrench, a poodle skirt, and my candy cane."

"You'd better take a bugle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he murmured crankily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied firmly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of paintbrushes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slunk curiously out of the office. He stared delicately after her.

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