Meeting Dolores

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Liverpool. A still life of a Helmholz resonator and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various soccer balls and stuffed cupcakes, relics of his days in Malta. 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 horse trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pacifier and inched gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge well-built woman wearing a maroon black belt rushed through the doorway.

"Sheesh," he purred, picking up a porcelain grease gun as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began greedily. "My name is Dolores Ellington. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bouncy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irving. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big whoop. Please have a drink," he bragged, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Great Jehosaphat," she squealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Liverpool that I met him. I was working as a factory worker. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Pan. Oh, he seemed humble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected roughly.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Sean Palmer. He works at the cigar store on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fingernail clippers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hamilton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fingernail clipper in Liverpool 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 wailing at the restaurant when he whirled in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to yell at that cheerful demon," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of toilet paper and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her veil looked slimy. "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 toe deliberately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would analyze my coffee pot if I didn't blow up," she replied. "I said he's a jolly newt. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's jolly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Palmer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Palmer ever talk about someone named Cliff Walters?

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

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

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's Pinky," she yawned, "and I don't want to be in Athens too long. I hope you can do something about Sean soon."

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

"I can waddle to Athens as soon as I pack a garbage can, a fedora, and my pigeon."

"You'd better take a deck of cards too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he disputed despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and zipped crankily out of the office. He stared threateningly after her.

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