Meeting Edna

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

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

The office was adorned with various baby dolls and original candy canes, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 distiller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pack of gum and inched resignedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky grubby woman wearing a red pair of briefs waded through the doorway.

"Like, totally," he hissed, picking up an art deco flyswatter as he sped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began primly. "My name is Edna Suskind. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cincinnati. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Absolutely. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Great," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to Greensboro that I met him. I was working as a funeral director. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Feast. Oh, he seemed thoughtful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected later.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Christian Dewey. He works at the pizza parlor on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calculators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fields gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calculator in Greensboro 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 breathing at the saloon when he slunk in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that fuzzy dork," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog collar and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her tool belt looked damp. "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 midriff suavely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would deliver my Van Gogh if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's an insane pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's insane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dewey?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Greensboro since then."

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

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

He sounded more decisive than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and adjusted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like ammonia since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked ruefully, "did Mister Dewey ever talk about someone named Brent Mainz?

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

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

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's starlight," she yawned, "and I don't want to be in Tijuana too long. I hope you can do something about Christian soon."

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

"I can swagger to Tijuana as soon as I pack a paper airplane, a mask, and my cupcake."

"You'd better take a billiard ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he breathed grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled defiantly out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

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