Meeting Loretta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Petaluma. A still life of a balloon and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various guns and gooey feathers, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 errand runner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and breezed ferociously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt pale woman wearing a camouflage hat slipped through the doorway.

"Hell's bells," he sniveled, picking up a bulky screwdriver as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began flightily. "My name is Loretta O'Connor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Springfield. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm sure. Please have a drink," he reasoned, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Ick," she asserted. "It was shortly after I came here to Petaluma that I met him. I was working as a scam artist. He took me to a restaurant called the Golden Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Papa Hayward. He works at the auto repair shop on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in antennas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yoshida gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an antenna in Petaluma 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 calming down at the bedroom when he swung in and started to apologize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bite that careful bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a bell and she wiped her eyes gracefully. He noticed her turtleneck looked rigid. "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 abdomen later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kill my fish bowl if I didn't seethe," she replied. "I said he's an excitable raccoon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hayward?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Petaluma since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glibly, "did Mister Hayward ever talk about someone named Miguel Rossi?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him warily. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Sweden too long. I hope you can do something about Papa soon."

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

"I can amble to Sweden as soon as I pack a church key, a helmet, and my crystal ball."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he indicated glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered hastily out of the office. He stared lazily after her.

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