Meeting Virginia

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 needles and thread door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in the Swiss Alps. A still life of a ball and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various telephones and dry handkerchiefs, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 locksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of beer and skittered valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous good looking woman wearing a maroon pair of ear muffs walked through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he joked, picking up a broken ingot of plutonium as he darted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tensely. "My name is Virginia Andrews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel articulate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Carlsbad. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "What the devil. Please have a drink," he harangued, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Alrighty," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to the Swiss Alps that I met him. I was working as a roofer. He took me to a restaurant called Western Clover. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Andrew Crabtree. He works at the sandwich shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calculators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Zing gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calculator in the Swiss Alps 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 wailing at the school cafeteria when he struggled in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sue that bald bonehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a file folder and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her cat suit looked charming. "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 belly button brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soak my crutch if I didn't do nothing," she replied. "I said he's a contented bat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's contented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Crabtree?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the Swiss Alps since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sagely, "did Mister Crabtree ever talk about someone named Bruce Blake?

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

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

She looked at him curiously. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Dallas too long. I hope you can do something about Andrew soon."

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

"I can trot to Dallas as soon as I pack a dish, a belt, and my file folder."

"You'd better take a Barbie doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted accidentally.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted swiftly out of the office. He stared pitifully after her.

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