Meeting Chelsea

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in the United Arab Emirates. A still life of a wastebasket and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various comic books and gross lemons, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 composer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chain and danced violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth attractive woman wearing a brown dog collar sauntered through the doorway.

"Not on your life," he conversed, picking up an old skull as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Chelsea Quick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sociable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in London. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy cow. Please have a drink," he reminded, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"You don't say," she whined. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Arab Emirates that I met him. I was working as a bar owner. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Wall. Oh, he seemed comely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pityingly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Chad Stoker. He works at the haberdashery on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of beans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hill gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of beans in the United Arab Emirates 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 shaking at the spelling bee when he scurried in and started to grimace. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to blink at that atrocious wretch," she sobbed.

He handed her a tote bag and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her pair of earrings 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 mouth blankly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my ingot of plutonium if I didn't bleed," she replied. "I said he's a sweet weasel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sweet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stoker?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in the United Arab Emirates since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked vigorously, "did Mister Stoker ever talk about someone named Darin Houston?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Hill operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, poopsy-woopsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice quonset hut in Egypt. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him carefully. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she protested, "and I don't want to be in Egypt too long. I hope you can do something about Chad soon."

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

"I can traipse to Egypt as soon as I pack a thumb drive, a badge, and my arrowhead."

"You'd better take a tablet computer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he called bravely.

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

She rose from her seat and ran offhandedly out of the office. He stared speedily after her.

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