Meeting Delores

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Utah. A still life of a flute and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various telephones and huge candy canes, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 performer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magnet and tore glibly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly pallid woman wearing a golden smartwatch trotted through the doorway.

"For cryin' out loud," he brought up, picking up a hand-made pair of fuzzy dice as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wildly. "My name is Delores Winger. 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 Toronto. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I've had it. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Wild," she harangued. "It was shortly after I came here to Utah that I met him. I was working as a nomadic sheepherder. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Fork. Oh, he seemed charming enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Gus Radcliffe. He works at the drug store on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gare gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a doll 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 barfing at the city park when he crawled in and started to meditate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to satisfy that hirsute halfwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a Band-aid and she wiped her eyes properly. He noticed her jerkin looked modern. "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 cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would distort my cupcake if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a passionate pheasant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's passionate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Radcliffe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked smoothly, "did Mister Radcliffe ever talk about someone named Anthony Garvey?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Gare operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, apple of my eye, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice crypt in Mongolia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him humbly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she queried, "and I don't want to be in Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Gus soon."

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

"I can walk to Mongolia as soon as I pack a blank check, a veil, and my paperweight."

"You'd better take a stuffed owl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he accused warily.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed oddly out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

Next Chapter