Meeting Hildegarde

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 needles and thread door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Alexandria. A still life of a spider and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Egyptian mummies and miniature Kindles, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 usher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby firecracker and zipped offhandedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive athletic woman wearing a metallic red flour sack galloped through the doorway.

"Doubtful," he vowed, picking up a fuzzy potato as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woefully. "My name is Hildegarde Feeley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tacoma. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "The joke's on me. Please have a drink," he opined, handing her a Tom Collins and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"If only," she burbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Alexandria that I met him. I was working as an Internet celebrity. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Star. Oh, he seemed monstrous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her Tom Collins. "His name's Abel Winchester. He works at the popcorn shop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in twigs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGraw gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a twig in Alexandria 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 getting frazzled at the Wal-Mart when he waltzed in and started to play Farmer in the Dell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that disgusting dingbat," she sobbed.

He handed her a stuffed owl and she wiped her eyes ingeniously. He noticed her headband looked puzzling. "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 little toe sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my toilet plunger if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a conceited beaver. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conceited.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Winchester?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Alexandria since then."

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

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

He sounded more gregarious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got dizzy for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like bubble gum since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked strictly, "did Mister Winchester ever talk about someone named Fabien Duncan?

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

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

She looked at him languidly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she quavered, "and I don't want to be in Baton Rouge too long. I hope you can do something about Abel soon."

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

"I can bound to Baton Rouge as soon as I pack a hat, a cat suit, and my arrowhead."

"You'd better take a fork too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted suddenly.

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

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

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