Meeting Fawn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Augusta. A still life of a napkin and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various apples and hand-made bouquets, relics of his days in Panama. 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 banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pain pill and sashayed vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe olive woman wearing a camouflage pair of culottes crawled through the doorway.

"My my," he continued, picking up a slimy clothespin as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cleverly. "My name is Fawn Messina. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel noble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milwaukee. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Chirp. Please have a drink," he conversed, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Never mind," she murmured. "It was shortly after I came here to Augusta that I met him. I was working as a hair stylist. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Chicken. Oh, he seemed solitary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fiercely.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Abe Tillerman. He works at the perfumery on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Augusta 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 yelling at the dance when he breezed in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that pesky wimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a bucket and she wiped her eyes pitifully. He noticed her Superman costume looked new. "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 ear haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would handle my garbage can if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a suave tiger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tillerman?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Augusta since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Tillerman ever talk about someone named Juan Garvey?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she implored, "and I don't want to be in New York too long. I hope you can do something about Abe soon."

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

"I can careen to New York as soon as I pack an air compressor, a stovepipe hat, and my cigar."

"You'd better take a toolbox too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted urgently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred sixty dollars as a retainer," she replied sternly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of buttons. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and jogged offhandedly out of the office. He stared quickly after her.

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