Meeting Madelyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in South Carolina. A still life of a radio and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coins and well worn hammers, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 system administrator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rock and strolled woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat wizened woman wearing a chartreuse flak jacket dashed through the doorway.

"Hello," he squawked, picking up a crooked bucket as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gleefully. "My name is Madelyn Tutu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Macon. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm stoked. Please have a drink," he recited, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Ppppbbbft," she urged. "It was shortly after I came here to South Carolina that I met him. I was working as a gastroenterologist. He took me to a restaurant called Doc's Pastry Shop. Oh, he seemed radiant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected offhandedly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Derek Cantada. He works at the health food store on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Parker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cork in South Carolina 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 moaning at the ski resort when he swaggered in and started to weep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to write that young dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigarette lighter and she wiped her eyes coolly. He noticed her mask looked primitive. "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 wig glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would patch my cage if I didn't die," she replied. "I said he's a dignified cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dignified.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cantada?"

"Only a century; I've only been in South Carolina since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked quickly, "did Mister Cantada ever talk about someone named Wesley Porrello?

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

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

She looked at him strictly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she avowed, "and I don't want to be in Scottsdale too long. I hope you can do something about Derek soon."

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

"I can dive to Scottsdale as soon as I pack a candy cane, a bolo tie, and my flash drive."

"You'd better take a bat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored gingerly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered charmingly out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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