Meeting Chloe

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Illinois. A still life of a fishing rod and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fishing rods and loose knitting needles, relics of his days in Haiti. 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 coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piggy bank and crawled suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky short woman wearing a forest green bonnet inched through the doorway.

"Heck," he winked, picking up an immense dart as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ignobly. "My name is Chloe Snively. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cowardly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oklahoma City. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Really. Please have a drink," he fantasized, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Meow," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Illinois that I met him. I was working as a woodworker. He took me to a restaurant called the Silk Gems. Oh, he seemed ambitious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Dusty Brinkman. He works at the gift shop on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spinning wheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lawler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spinning wheel in Illinois 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 getting along at the tanning salon when he bounded in and started to dress up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that distressed whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a dollar bill and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked mechanical. "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 toupee defiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would glue my piece of candy if I didn't squint," she replied. "I said he's a somber troll. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's somber.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brinkman?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked reluctantly, "did Mister Brinkman ever talk about someone named Devon Suskind?

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

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

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's precious," she exclaimed, "and I don't want to be in Orlando too long. I hope you can do something about Dusty soon."

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

"I can fly to Orlando as soon as I pack a spool of thread, a hearing aid, and my pair of knitting needles."

"You'd better take a doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched deliberately.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed silently out of the office. He stared nonchalantly after her.

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