Meeting Pam

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a rubber chicken and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of headphones and dusty blank checks, relics of his days in Germany. 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 delivery driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby brush and slipped offhandedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge bearded woman wearing a violet bridal gown slunk through the doorway.

"Crap," he blathered, picking up a gaudy stuffed kitten as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began doubtfully. "My name is Pam Craft. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Knoxville. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Drat. Please have a drink," he worried, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Par bleu," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as an elementary school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Bronze Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed paranoid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected neatly.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Austin Sewell. He works at the jewelry store on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dog collars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Saramago gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dog collar in Rochester 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 talking at the beach when he bolted in and started to gesticulate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that careful dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a clipboard and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her overcoat looked fluffy. "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 rib sagely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scrape my blank check if I didn't awaken," she replied. "I said he's a fearless tiger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sewell?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unabashedly, "did Mister Sewell ever talk about someone named Hoss Pough?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Saramago operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsy-wootsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice sand castle in El Paso. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she enunciated, "and I don't want to be in El Paso too long. I hope you can do something about Austin soon."

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

"I can bolt to El Paso as soon as I pack a piece of candy, a kilt, and my chess set."

"You'd better take a campaign sign too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smirked obediently.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked languidly out of the office. He stared demurely after her.

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