Meeting Eve

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Billings. A still life of a coffee pot and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various wrenches and new stuffed bunnies, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 funeral director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of scissors and slid wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic brown-eyed woman wearing a hot pink robe tiptoed through the doorway.

"Awesome," he squawked, picking up a crooked pumpkin as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began bravely. "My name is Eve Sparks. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gettysburg. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Exaltations. Please have a drink," he fretted, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Heavens to murgatroyd," she rumored. "It was shortly after I came here to Billings that I met him. I was working as a football coach. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Basket. Oh, he seemed carefree enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Kellen Falcone. He works at the flower shop on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clothespins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Burner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clothespin in Billings 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 staring into space at the beach when he slipped in and started to snort. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to attack that wily devil," she sobbed.

He handed her a notepad and she wiped her eyes gently. He noticed her diamond necklace looked fancy. "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 lung cruelly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would monitor my roll of toilet paper if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a stubby honeybee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Falcone?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Billings since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nimbly, "did Mister Falcone ever talk about someone named Damien Alexander?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Burner operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dovey-poo, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice church in the Czech Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him rapidly. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in the Czech Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Kellen soon."

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

"I can parade to the Czech Republic as soon as I pack a cell phone, a pair of pajamas, and my pot."

"You'd better take a dog biscuit too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he brought up daringly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped awkwardly out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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