Meeting Charlotte

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Kentucky. A still life of a toilet seat and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various pairs of pliers and delicate diamond necklaces, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 fruit picker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby church key and slumped majestically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky sprightly woman wearing a brown set of vampire fangs scooted through the doorway.

"Voilà," he demanded, picking up an old brochure as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Charlotte Ward. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel direct. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Angelo. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Arrrgh. Please have a drink," he interrupted, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Woops," she shouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Kentucky that I met him. I was working as a biologist. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Blossom. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Deng Dunn. He works at the coffee shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bouquets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Weaver gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bouquet in Kentucky 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 huffing at the laundromat when he stormed in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to analyze that agile boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a twig and she wiped her eyes shyly. He noticed her award medal looked spongy. "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 head coldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my feather duster if I didn't slobber," she replied. "I said he's a dependable chipmunk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dependable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dunn?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Kentucky since then."

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

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

He sounded more fearless 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 buzzed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like strawberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked thoughtfully, "did Mister Dunn ever talk about someone named Jim Bob Barducci?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Weaver operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, heart of hearts, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice brownstone in Bangalore. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's heart of hearts," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Deng soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Bangalore as soon as I pack a china doll, a scarf, and my bullet."

"You'd better take a houseplant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled repeatedly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred seventeen dollars as a retainer," she replied admiringly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bags of potato chips. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and paraded suspiciously out of the office. He stared reluctantly after her.

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