Meeting LaVerne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Arkansas. A still life of a curling iron and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various teddy bears and bent feather dusters, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 con artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPod and sallied forth grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard youthful woman wearing a teal tutu crept through the doorway.

"Hah," he pronounced, picking up a broken screwdriver as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began proudly. "My name is LaVerne Stuart. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rapacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Please. Please have a drink," he insisted, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Can it," she stuttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Arkansas that I met him. I was working as a football coach. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Garden. Oh, he seemed difficult enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Mel Sahoo. He works at the sandwich shop on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in salt shakers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Crawford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a salt shaker in Arkansas 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 awakening at the carnival when he clambered in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that choleric villain," she sobbed.

He handed her a fish bowl and she wiped her eyes shakily. He noticed her fez looked excellent. "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 calf gruffly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would deliver my basketball if I didn't stare," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious banana slug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sahoo?"

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

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

"Okay, so this Mel Sahoo 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 face like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and squinted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fried chicken since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Sahoo ever talk about someone named Oliver Lawson?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a wag of the finger.

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

She looked at him demurely. "I'm nobody's little blossom," she called, "and I don't want to be in the Solomon Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Mel soon."

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

"I can walk to the Solomon Islands as soon as I pack a Hostess Ding Dong, a pair of toe shoes, and my telephone book."

"You'd better take a diagram too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he warbled slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted bravely out of the office. He stared demurely after her.

Next Chapter