Meeting Claire

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a notebook and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags of popcorn and gaudy napkins, relics of his days in the United States. 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 cartoonist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper bag and sprinted strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat adorable woman wearing a grey set of braces paraded through the doorway.

"Alas," he cried, picking up a gaudy basketball as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began properly. "My name is Claire Novak. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charleston. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dum de dum dum. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Goodness me," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as a coin collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Cloud. Oh, he seemed diabolical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Buster Schmoe. He works at the shoe store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in grease guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esser gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a grease gun in Fort Worth 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 clattering at the pet store when he waltzed in and started to yell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dream about that bizarre turkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes briskly. He noticed her denim skirt 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 beard rapidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my bottle if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's an enthusiastic crocodile. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enthusiastic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schmoe?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Fort Worth since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked strangely, "did Mister Schmoe ever talk about someone named Quincy Dayton?

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

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

She looked at him impatiently. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she protested, "and I don't want to be in Swaziland too long. I hope you can do something about Buster soon."

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

"I can tear to Swaziland as soon as I pack a spoon, a blanket, and my map."

"You'd better take an oriental vase too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and trotted sternly out of the office. He stared properly after her.

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