Meeting Vanessa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Liverpool. A still life of a stuffed owl and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various pairs of headphones and plain hand puppets, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 civil engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby box and trekked gratefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky bald woman wearing a jet black pair of Reeboks waddled through the doorway.

"Doggone," he proposed, picking up a spongy ping-pong paddle as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Vanessa Bogart. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel agile. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Escondido. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very interesting. Please have a drink," he whispered, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"I don't think so," she sobbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Liverpool that I met him. I was working as a sales clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Chopstick. Oh, he seemed timid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Gabriel Mohammadian. He works at the shoe shine booth on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."

"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 peach in Liverpool 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 vegetating at the city park when he loped in and started to dress up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to needle that prickly blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her belt looked small. "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 calf woodenly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would heat my cookbook if I didn't calculate," she replied. "I said he's a coy mongoose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mohammadian?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Mohammadian ever talk about someone named Joseph Moodle?

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

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

She looked at him softly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Pennsylvania too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."

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

"I can galumph to Pennsylvania as soon as I pack an orange, a bolo tie, and my radio."

"You'd better take a rubber chicken too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he railed crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered hopefully out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

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