Meeting Bretta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Delaware. A still life of a pencil sharpener and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fish and periwinkle toys, relics of his days in Korea. 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 engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clarinet and bolted majestically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal ruddy woman wearing a mauve pair of bloomers slid through the doorway.

"Big deal," he indicated, picking up a gruesome microphone as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Bretta Prentice. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel deadly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Caracas. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Knock me over with a feather. Please have a drink," he belched, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

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

"By Jove," she began. "It was shortly after I came here to Delaware that I met him. I was working as a wrestler. He took me to a restaurant called Eastern Cow. Oh, he seemed sleepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Jim Bob MacIntire. He works at the grocery store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Helmholz resonators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Martin gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Helmholz resonator in Delaware 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 jumping at the miniature golf course when he climbed in and started to look dumb. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that decent sap," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her winter coat 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 belly button threateningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would melt my candy bar if I didn't belch," she replied. "I said he's a queer otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacIntire?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Delaware since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sharply, "did Mister MacIntire ever talk about someone named Blake Dingwell?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Martin operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, light of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice KOA Kampground in Modesto. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him openly. "I'm nobody's light of my life," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Jim Bob soon."

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

"I can straggle to Modesto as soon as I pack a stuffed owl, a robe, and my fish bowl."

"You'd better take a coupon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fantasized strictly.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced elatedly out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

Next Chapter