Meeting Denise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a box of candy and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bells and porcelain vases, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 bar owner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil sharpener and slumped vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall demonic woman wearing a scarlet skirt skidded through the doorway.

"Gosh," he simpered, picking up an ancient grease gun as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Denise Schibbel. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel nonchalant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charlotte. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pish posh. Please have a drink," he laughed, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Aha," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a film director. He took me to a restaurant called Mountain Kitchen. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Stuart Baca. He works at the convenience store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in African violets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bean gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an African violet in Waco 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 knitting at the rock concert when he slipped in and started to freak out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to operate on that sexy dweeb," she sobbed.

He handed her a teacup and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her miniskirt looked synthetic. "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 pinky proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my Happy Meal if I didn't ponder," she replied. "I said he's a presumptuous sasquatch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's presumptuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Baca?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Waco since then."

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

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

He sounded more irate than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his piehole like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got dizzy for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like new mown hay since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked coldly, "did Mister Baca ever talk about someone named Anthony Higgins?

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

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

She looked at him sarcastically. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Tennessee too long. I hope you can do something about Stuart soon."

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

"I can whirl to Tennessee as soon as I pack a calculator, a jogging suit, and my carrot."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stormed courteously.

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

She rose from her seat and careened languidly out of the office. He stared ferociously after her.

Next Chapter