Meeting Alisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Armenia. A still life of a piece of candy and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various corncobs and imitation Barbie dolls, relics of his days in Israel. 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 rabbi, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clothespin and sprinted hopelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe large woman wearing an aqua balaclava skittered through the doorway.

"Excellent," he murmured, picking up an excellent fossil as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Alisa Kissling. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel insane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'll bet. Please have a drink," he intoned, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Phew," she admitted. "It was shortly after I came here to Armenia that I met him. I was working as a pawnbroker. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Plate. Oh, he seemed weary enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Nils Manning. He works at the boutique on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Baird gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bell in Armenia 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 grunting at the library when he swaggered in and started to tread water. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chase that mean scalawag," she sobbed.

He handed her a hacksaw and she wiped her eyes fondly. He noticed her military uniform looked hand-painted. "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 thorax brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my egg shell if I didn't lie around in bed," she replied. "I said he's a direct Doberman. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Manning?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Armenia since then."

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

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

He sounded more charming 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 quivered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like pipe tobacco since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Manning ever talk about someone named Shamus Perkins?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's doll," she shrieked, "and I don't want to be in Uganda too long. I hope you can do something about Nils soon."

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

"I can stride to Uganda as soon as I pack a carrot, a pair of boxing gloves, and my baby doll."

"You'd better take a chart too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rebutted perkily.

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

She rose from her seat and capered grudgingly out of the office. He stared crossly after her.

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