Meeting Edna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Washington. A still life of a baton and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various toilet plungers and frilly peanuts, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 traveling salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and bolted bitterly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin wizened woman wearing a sea green turtleneck clambered through the doorway.

"Encore," he articulated, picking up a smumpy bell as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courteously. "My name is Edna Rush. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wily. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Wow," she sighed. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington that I met him. I was working as a football coach. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Fortress. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected innocently.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Damien Bunyan. He works at the restaurant on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feather dusters."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Singh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather duster in Washington 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 giggling at the spelling bee when he barrelled in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to escape from that ambitious rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a battery and she wiped her eyes sympathetically. He noticed her bodysuit looked rough. "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 heel dreamily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would check my curling iron if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's a spunky spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spunky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bunyan?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Washington since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Bunyan ever talk about someone named Vance Wykes?

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

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

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she began, "and I don't want to be in Kentucky too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can dash to Kentucky as soon as I pack a box of candy, a diamond bracelet, and my vase."

"You'd better take a pizza too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declared despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and tore greedily out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

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