Meeting Lauren

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a bullet and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various baby dolls and ridiculous paintbrushes, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 preacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blank check and hopped narrowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby gangling woman wearing a purple scarf walked through the doorway.

"Ah," he smiled, picking up a woven suitcase as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Lauren Benson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Syracuse. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he screeched, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Grody to the max," she alleged. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a clarinetist. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Panda. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sagely.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Jess Titus. He works at the McDonalds on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Glidden gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigar in Brussels 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 snarling at the bowling alley when he pranced in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shake that relaxed dip," she sobbed.

He handed her an avocado and she wiped her eyes glumly. He noticed her feather boa looked gruesome. "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 thorax dreamily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grab my statue if I didn't awaken," she replied. "I said he's a decisive polecat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decisive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Titus?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Titus ever talk about someone named Logan Zwiebel?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Glidden operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, angel-face, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice teepee in Corpus Christi. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Corpus Christi too long. I hope you can do something about Jess soon."

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

"I can amble to Corpus Christi as soon as I pack a comb, a heavy layer of makeup, and my grease gun."

"You'd better take a spinning wheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted speedily.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked bitterly out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

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