Meeting Carol

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in India. A still life of a doll and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bowling balls and important stuffed kittens, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 ecologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pail and tramped sleepily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt wizened woman wearing a magenta uniform dashed through the doorway.

"Whoopee," he trumpeted, picking up a burned spoon as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Carol Hale. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Escondido. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Kapow. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Diddly poo," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to India that I met him. I was working as a jeweler. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Galaxy. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Shepard Brown. He works at the cigar store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ireland gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in India 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 swearing at the juice shop when he jumped in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to split up with that considerate communist," she sobbed.

He handed her a stuffed kitten and she wiped her eyes elatedly. He noticed her pair of shin guards looked jagged. "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 Adam's apple joyously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would protect my bucket if I didn't bark," she replied. "I said he's a playful ass. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's playful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brown?"

"Only a week; I've only been in India since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Brown ever talk about someone named Ian Matthews?

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

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

She looked at him violently. "I'm nobody's Pinky," she growled, "and I don't want to be in Vancouver too long. I hope you can do something about Shepard soon."

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

"I can set out to Vancouver as soon as I pack a pillow, a smartwatch, and my pinwheel."

"You'd better take a box of Kleenex too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he avowed again.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled wildly out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.

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