Meeting Claudette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Podunk Hollow. A still life of a sack of potatoes and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various staplers and polished tubes of toothpaste, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 restaurant inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby necklace and sailed testily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bony woman wearing a jet black stovepipe hat barrelled through the doorway.

"Eww," he fantasized, picking up a wooden whistle as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began roughly. "My name is Claudette Tiller. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel athletic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pembroke. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bullpuckey. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"No way," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to Podunk Hollow that I met him. I was working as an investment banker. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Serpent. Oh, he seemed disorganized enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected truculently.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Cory Usher. He works at the photography studio on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Booth gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag in Podunk Hollow 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 dithering at the saloon when he dashed in and started to purr. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that brilliant old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a photograph and she wiped her eyes automatically. He noticed her pair of flip-flops looked plastic. "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 nostril glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smell my ingot of plutonium if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Usher?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked bitterly, "did Mister Usher ever talk about someone named Giovanni Irons?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Booth operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mi amor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice KOA Kampground in the Swiss Alps. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she grieved, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Cory soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a Frisbee, a pair of nylons, and my abacus."

"You'd better take a sponge too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quavered hopelessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twelve dollars as a retainer," she replied violently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of toilet plungers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

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

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