Meeting Bonita

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Cincinnati. A still life of a clam and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various muffins and imitation bedpans, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 midwife, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crate and dove brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious winsome woman wearing a scarlet gas mask made a beeline through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he avowed, picking up a speckled candle as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Bonita Schwarz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spunky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Ho Chi Minh City. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big deal. Please have a drink," he bragged, handing her an old fashioned and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Land's sakes," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Cincinnati that I met him. I was working as a quilter. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Burgers. Oh, he seemed undignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her old fashioned. "His name's Hamlet Palmer. He works at the art gallery on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Happy Meals."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carver gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Happy Meal in Cincinnati 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 getting rigid at the rock concert when he swung in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call the cops on that creepy goof," she sobbed.

He handed her a hacksaw and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her gold medal looked leather. "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 fingernail trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fabricate my hubcap if I didn't pucker," she replied. "I said he's an arrogant goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's arrogant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Palmer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Palmer ever talk about someone named Devin Sludge?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Carver operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, main squeeze, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice sand castle in South Bend. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him suavely. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she maintained, "and I don't want to be in South Bend too long. I hope you can do something about Hamlet soon."

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

"I can pad to South Bend as soon as I pack a coloring book, a jacket, and my chair."

"You'd better take a dollhouse too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he articulated greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and darted trustingly out of the office. He stared reluctantly after her.

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