Meeting Antoinette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a hockey puck and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hacksaws and smooth cans of beans, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 costume designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby saw and bounced clumsily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly plump woman wearing a tan shirt reeled through the doorway.

"So sure," he groveled, picking up a shiny bucket as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began bravely. "My name is Antoinette Palin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel desperate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kileen. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Chirp. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Unreal," she roared. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as a beekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Winery. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected queerly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Darryl Cain. He works at the clothing store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coupons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wolfe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coupon in Lincoln 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 shriveling at the tattoo parlor when he waddled in and started to show up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that haughty dingleberry," she sobbed.

He handed her an amulet and she wiped her eyes timidly. He noticed her straitjacket looked smelly. "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 skin hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ignore my toothbrush if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a cute Siamese cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cain?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Lincoln since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked speedily, "did Mister Cain ever talk about someone named Morgan Kilroy?

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

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

She looked at him automatically. "I'm nobody's sweet," she spoke up, "and I don't want to be in Rome too long. I hope you can do something about Darryl soon."

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

"I can swagger to Rome as soon as I pack a tissue, a toupee, and my stone."

"You'd better take a playing card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pleaded cunningly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped ingeniously out of the office. He stared noisily after her.

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