Meeting Renee

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Kentucky. A still life of a soccer ball and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various microphones and mechanical biscuits, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 ditch digger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magnifying glass and dove gruffly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous large woman wearing a silver cat suit paraded through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he reacted, picking up a rusty cardboard box as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began positively. "My name is Renee Queens. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mogadishu. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why not?. Please have a drink," he observed, handing her a cup of tea and sitting down on the dresser.

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

"This is difficult for me," she wondered, glancing at the pair of Groucho glasses he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"The joke's on me," she grieved. "It was shortly after I came here to Kentucky that I met him. I was working as a midwife. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Papaya. Oh, he seemed bilious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected automatically.

She stared into her cup of tea. "His name's Shepard Drake. He works at the ad agency on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes of candy."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Melville gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box of candy in Kentucky 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 bleeding at the ski resort when he lurched in and started to grimace. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that smart lunatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a hammer and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her trench coat looked tiny. "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 neck innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lengthen my pillow if I didn't sneeze," she replied. "I said he's a weird computer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's weird.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Drake?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Kentucky since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hysterically, "did Mister Drake ever talk about someone named Larry Bean?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's kitten," she pointed out, "and I don't want to be in Lubbock too long. I hope you can do something about Shepard soon."

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

"I can march to Lubbock as soon as I pack a doll, a shawl, and my cigarette lighter."

"You'd better take a bird cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered sheepishly out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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