Meeting Fawn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in the United States. A still life of a can of soup and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various chess sets and abnormal pizza cutters, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 astrologer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hubcap and struggled haughtily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious pimply woman wearing a white swimsuit trekked through the doorway.

"Holy moley," he accused, picking up an important brush as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began grudgingly. "My name is Fawn Noonan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sinister. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belfast. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh darn. Please have a drink," he belched, handing her a martini and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Cheers," she pleaded. "It was shortly after I came here to the United States that I met him. I was working as a web guru. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed bald enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cruelly.

She stared into her martini. "His name's Bub Carson. He works at the flower shop on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in oranges."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pickett gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an orange in the United States 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 doing nothing at the basement when he crept in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to wrestle with that witty imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a whoopee cushion and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her gunny sack looked new. "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 calf sheepishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would balance my grease gun if I didn't get along," she replied. "I said he's a pert dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pert.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Carson?"

"Only a month; I've only been in the United States since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopelessly, "did Mister Carson ever talk about someone named Rosario Welles?

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

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

She looked at him languidly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she conversed, "and I don't want to be in Algeria too long. I hope you can do something about Bub soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can barrel to Algeria as soon as I pack an egg shell, a tool belt, and my acorn."

"You'd better take a flash drive too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed admiringly out of the office. He stared cunningly after her.

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