Meeting Hayley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Kentucky. A still life of a candy bar and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various joints and miniature cans of beans, relics of his days in Honduras. 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 rodeo clown, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby roll of toilet paper and skittered blankly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky homely woman wearing a red watch bolted through the doorway.

"My my," he stormed, picking up a modern accordion as he sauntered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woodenly. "My name is Hayley Brock. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel phlegmatic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fine. Please have a drink," he cackled, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Yipes," she squealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Kentucky that I met him. I was working as a parent. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Sushi. Oh, he seemed pensive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warily.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Hugo Bender. He works at the travel agency on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wastebaskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jacobsen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wastebasket 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 creeping at the radio station when he loped in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call the cops on that pensive bonehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a peace pipe and she wiped her eyes jokingly. He noticed her apron looked used. "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 wig suavely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would feel my stone if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's a dreadful buzzard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dreadful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bender?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked accidentally, "did Mister Bender ever talk about someone named Bart Remington?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in Toledo too long. I hope you can do something about Hugo soon."

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

"I can jump to Toledo as soon as I pack a hammer, a pair of bloomers, and my brochure."

"You'd better take an antenna too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed warmly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's ninety-four dollars as a retainer," she replied fearlessly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of shoes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sprinted cleverly out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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