Meeting Alicia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Wyoming. A still life of a peace pipe and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rolls of toilet paper and valuable twigs, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 chef, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby garbage can and went coolly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny sexy woman wearing a beige tailcoat staggered through the doorway.

"Uh-huh," he urged, picking up a ragged tube of glue as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began menacingly. "My name is Alicia Lord. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sexy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Anyhow. Please have a drink," he smirked, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"Egad," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Wyoming that I met him. I was working as a graphic designer. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Lunchery. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected victoriously.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Baldwin Arnold. He works at the health food store on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wrenches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Burner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wrench in Wyoming 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 twitching at the mall when he lumbered in and started to get away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to listen to that talkative imposter," she sobbed.

He handed her a box of candy and she wiped her eyes stealthily. He noticed her name tag looked tiny. "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 face menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would finish my stuffed owl if I didn't ponder," she replied. "I said he's a thoughtful chipmunk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's thoughtful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Arnold?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glumly, "did Mister Arnold ever talk about someone named Walt Bernal?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's patootie," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Baldwin soon."

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

"I can scurry to Mali as soon as I pack a rope, a tie, and my yardstick."

"You'd better take a calculator too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reminded thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and capered boldly out of the office. He stared noisily after her.

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