Meeting Bettie Lou

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Moscow. A still life of a mirror and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Helmholz resonators and aromatic salt shakers, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 sales clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby deck of cards and blundered energetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated bony woman wearing a jade pair of handcuffs swaggered through the doorway.

"Quiet," he emphasized, picking up a plastic rose as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cunningly. "My name is Bettie Lou Gutierrez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cantankerous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Perth Amboy. Her calf made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blah. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Yeeshka," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Moscow that I met him. I was working as a surgeon. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Dynasty. Oh, he seemed lethargic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Steven Piper. He works at the antique store on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in campaign signs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schreiber gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a campaign sign in Moscow 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 grimacing at the beach when he zoomed in and started to snuffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to block that disagreeable meteorologist," she sobbed.

He handed her a Happy Meal and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her dunce cap looked bent. "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 hoof defiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tickle my suitcase if I didn't peep," she replied. "I said he's a stern horse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Piper?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Moscow since then."

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

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

He sounded more self-assured than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his brain like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and grinned for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Band-Aids since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Piper ever talk about someone named Elmer Hartley?

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

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

She looked at him trustingly. "I'm nobody's pookie," she blubbered, "and I don't want to be in Belarus too long. I hope you can do something about Steven soon."

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

"I can stalk to Belarus as soon as I pack a key ring, a sweater, and my antenna."

"You'd better take a pearl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelled fiercely.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced brightly out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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