Meeting Beverly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Louisville. A still life of a fishing rod and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various iPads and broken contracts, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 midwife, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basketball and dashed daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated sprightly woman wearing a purple tie strolled through the doorway.

"The joke's on you," he begged, picking up a fabulous blank check as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Beverly Pike. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel urbane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bakersfield. Her artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bilge. Please have a drink," he continued, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Aarrggh," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisville that I met him. I was working as a con artist. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Cafe. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ignobly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Jude Bunyan. He works at the nail salon on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hudson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a book in Louisville 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 adjusting at the carnival when he sidled in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to challenge that humble imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a candy cane and she wiped her eyes carefully. He noticed her sundress looked clean. "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 piehole cruelly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would guard my photograph if I didn't freeze," she replied. "I said he's a princely eagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's princely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bunyan?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Louisville since then."

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

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

He sounded more frumpy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and grumbled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fingernail polish remover since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Bunyan ever talk about someone named Giovanni Benson?

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

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

She looked at him sarcastically. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she called, "and I don't want to be in St. Paul too long. I hope you can do something about Jude soon."

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

"I can galumph to St. Paul as soon as I pack a bird feeder, a pair of cowboy boots, and my etching."

"You'd better take a cracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed noisily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's thirty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied grandly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of dog biscuits. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and straggled coldly out of the office. He stared resignedly after her.

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