Meeting Susanna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in China. A still life of an artificial flower and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peace pipes and polka-dotted keys, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 pilot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby purse and sidled frenetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious brown-eyed woman wearing a sparkly pith helmet swung through the doorway.

"Oh," he intimated, picking up a petite smart phone as he danced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel noxious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manhattan. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aye. Please have a drink," he quavered, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Durn," she disputed. "It was shortly after I came here to China that I met him. I was working as a percussionist. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Tiger. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Ira Flash. He works at the butcher shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hacksaws."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Major gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hacksaw in China 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 preaching at the spelling bee when he sailed in and started to applaud. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to indoctrinate that disorganized dingleberry," she sobbed.

He handed her a soccer ball and she wiped her eyes hopelessly. He noticed her Armani suit looked queer. "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 urgently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lick my comb if I didn't growl," she replied. "I said he's a grizzled deer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's grizzled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flash?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glumly, "did Mister Flash ever talk about someone named Jay Quinlan?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's treasure," she muttered, "and I don't want to be in Morocco too long. I hope you can do something about Ira soon."

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

"I can lurch to Morocco as soon as I pack a notebook, a lab coat, and my brush."

"You'd better take a candle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boasted dreamily.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered coldly out of the office. He stared valiantly after her.

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