Meeting Morgan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Alaska. A still life of a cage and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various diamonds and waxy billiard balls, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 model, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby whistle and slunk hastily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky attractive woman wearing an olive green miniskirt scurried through the doorway.

"Alley oop," he chattered, picking up a prickly helmet as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began temperamentally. "My name is Morgan Spangler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fascinating. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shiver me timbers. Please have a drink," he admitted, handing her a latte and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"My gosh," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Alaska that I met him. I was working as a con artist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Magic. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ruefully.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Bull Goldfarb. He works at the pizza joint on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in notebooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Falcone gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a notebook in Alaska 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 glaring at the church when he pranced in and started to wink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that insane rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a pumpkin and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her skirt looked cotton. "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 tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whip my alpine horn if I didn't squeak," she replied. "I said he's a sexy aardvark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sexy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goldfarb?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Alaska since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked briskly, "did Mister Goldfarb ever talk about someone named Del Yager?

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

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

She looked at him suavely. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she intimated, "and I don't want to be in Rio too long. I hope you can do something about Bull soon."

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

"I can crawl to Rio as soon as I pack an antenna, a turtleneck, and my dish."

"You'd better take a playing card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he swore irritably.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed briskly out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

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