Meeting Tabitha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Charleston. A still life of a cane and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pipes and fresh cans of soup, 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 astrologer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cracker and barrelled automatically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite petite woman wearing a jet black pair of suspenders traipsed through the doorway.

"Ay yi yi," he rambled, picking up a musty picture as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crazily. "My name is Tabitha Thurston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel humble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lincoln. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Huzzah. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Weird," she griped. "It was shortly after I came here to Charleston that I met him. I was working as a stable boy. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Fortress. Oh, he seemed loving enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Cliff Griebel. He works at the haberdashery on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in playing cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lister gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a playing card in Charleston 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 whirling at the carnival when he whirled in and started to run. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stare at that evil monster," she sobbed.

He handed her a doll and she wiped her eyes lovingly. He noticed her pair of handcuffs looked autographed. "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 eyelid testily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strike my pom-pom if I didn't type," she replied. "I said he's a sincere jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sincere.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Griebel?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Charleston since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked quietly, "did Mister Griebel ever talk about someone named Lee Pryor?

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

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

She looked at him sadly. "I'm nobody's flower," she cajoled, "and I don't want to be in Bakersfield too long. I hope you can do something about Cliff soon."

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

"I can waltz to Bakersfield as soon as I pack a box of Kleenex, a cheerleader's uniform, and my basketball."

"You'd better take an umbrella too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boasted diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth threateningly out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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