Meeting Veronica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Ontario. A still life of a baton and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various water bottles and damaged Helmholz resonators, relics of his days in India. 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 ice cream vendor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bedpan and bounced deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth alert woman wearing a striped Superman costume sped through the doorway.

"Blecch," he began, picking up an aromatic fossil as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began speedily. "My name is Veronica Mainz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shiftless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Austin. Her femur made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Alleluia," she cackled. "It was shortly after I came here to Ontario that I met him. I was working as a sword swallower. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Sky. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected delicately.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Chum Quinlan. He works at the office supply store on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rubber stamps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Johnston gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rubber stamp in Ontario 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 sniffling at the beach when he clambered in and started to chuckle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that drowsy renegade," she sobbed.

He handed her a jar of olives and she wiped her eyes nonchalantly. He noticed her dunce cap 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 stomach sadly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would submerse my pair of scissors if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a pesky rooster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pesky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quinlan?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Ontario since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unexpectedly, "did Mister Quinlan ever talk about someone named Luke Grigsby?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Johnston operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-bunny, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice park bench in Arkansas. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him timidly. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she responded, "and I don't want to be in Arkansas too long. I hope you can do something about Chum soon."

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

"I can dart to Arkansas as soon as I pack a dollar bill, a hood, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a bottle of perfume too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched merrily.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled suddenly out of the office. He stared boldly after her.

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