Meeting Andie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Tennessee. A still life of a stopwatch and a fish hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various snails and musty tablet computers, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 government agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird feeder and padded grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight bald woman wearing an amber letter jacket slid through the doorway.

"Uh-oh," he babbled, picking up a charming bicycle as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Andie Wapner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bubbly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Puebla. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Good golly. Please have a drink," he blustered, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Quick," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Tennessee that I met him. I was working as a street sweeper. He took me to a restaurant called Doc's Palace. Oh, he seemed sleek enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ruefully.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Tyler Nguyen. He works at the mortuary on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flutes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Workman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flute in Tennessee 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 passing out at the bookstore when he trekked in and started to fantasize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that atrocious nitwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a paperweight and she wiped her eyes courageously. He noticed her bomber jacket looked well worn. "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 bladder queerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blame my pair of knitting needles if I didn't primp," she replied. "I said he's a coy dachshund. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nguyen?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Tennessee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Nguyen ever talk about someone named Bronk Flake?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she rumored, "and I don't want to be in Lithuania too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

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

"I can trek to Lithuania as soon as I pack a rag, a necklace, and my cage."

"You'd better take a magazine too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he thought neatly.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled zestily out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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