Meeting Michelle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Bakersfield. A still life of a Happy Meal and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various iPhones and original jars of olives, relics of his days in Australia. 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 road worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rubber stamp and breezed coolly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine frizzle-headed woman wearing a khaki birthday suit climbed through the doorway.

"Roger that," he sputtered, picking up a speckled book as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began haughtily. "My name is Michelle Shakewell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel powerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glendale. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Arrrgh. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Ick," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Bakersfield that I met him. I was working as a pediatrician. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Terrace. Oh, he seemed precocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Stanley Giddings. He works at the office supply store on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tote bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eaton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tote bag in Bakersfield 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 nodding at the beach when he waddled in and started to apologize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quote that articulate pighead," she sobbed.

He handed her a deck of cards and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her baseball cap looked small. "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 knuckle pitifully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pack my church key if I didn't bleed," she replied. "I said he's a vivacious skunk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vivacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Giddings?"

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

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

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

He sounded more vile than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hip like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and shivered 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 sternly, "did Mister Giddings ever talk about someone named Edmond Tang?

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

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

She looked at him nimbly. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she squawked, "and I don't want to be in Kyrgyzstan too long. I hope you can do something about Stanley soon."

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

"I can stride to Kyrgyzstan as soon as I pack a necklace, a pair of ear muffs, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a boomerang too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fretted swiftly.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered ferociously out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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