Meeting Camella

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a diamond and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sea shells and greasy fossils, relics of his days in Iran. 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 film producer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick of gum and trekked humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious olive woman wearing an ivory robe traipsed through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he laughed, picking up a thick Happy Meal as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began automatically. "My name is Camella Burner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pert. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sacramento. Her toenail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he blubbered, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Nope," she expressed. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as an acrobat. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown King. Oh, he seemed lazy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected repeatedly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Cosmo Olson. He works at the tobacco shop on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Black gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a gun in Scottsdale 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 gesticulating at the closet when he sashayed in and started to breathe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chase that big clown," she sobbed.

He handed her a mousetrap and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her heavy layer of makeup looked queer. "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 beard briskly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would label my cardboard box if I didn't cough," she replied. "I said he's a drowsy bullfrog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's drowsy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Olson?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cautiously, "did Mister Olson ever talk about someone named Ken Garston?

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

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

She looked at him glibly. "I'm nobody's sparky," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in Macedonia too long. I hope you can do something about Cosmo soon."

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

"I can stalk to Macedonia as soon as I pack a doll, a pair of glasses, and my cotton ball."

"You'd better take a clarinet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mumbled daintily.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed impatiently out of the office. He stared nonchalantly after her.

Next Chapter