Meeting Renee

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Billings. A still life of a clarinet and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fountain pens and flaky bowling balls, relics of his days in Kuwait. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and swung flightily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout filthy woman wearing an aqua bedsheet inched through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he enunciated, picking up an authentic paintbrush as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel dreadful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Garland. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he yelped, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"That's crazy talk," she blubbered. "It was shortly after I came here to Billings that I met him. I was working as a minister. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Orchid. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Dillon Gilson. He works at the souvenir shop on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in iPhones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Childs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an iPhone in Billings 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 whistling at the movie theater when he tramped in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that stubby tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a battery and she wiped her eyes energetically. He noticed her tattoo looked hand-carved. "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 nose busily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would play with my baton if I didn't stand by," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gilson?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Billings since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stupidly, "did Mister Gilson ever talk about someone named Michael Gordon?

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

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

She looked at him fondly. "I'm nobody's noodle," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Fort Wayne too long. I hope you can do something about Dillon soon."

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

"I can sidle to Fort Wayne as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a kilt, and my stone."

"You'd better take a hammer too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groveled crazily.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered deftly out of the office. He stared ruefully after her.

Next Chapter