Meeting Alicia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Corpus Christi. A still life of a baton and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bicycles and leather ironing boards, relics of his days in Belize. 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 funeral director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby billiard ball and lumbered furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature homely woman wearing a carrot-orange pair of earmuffs flew through the doorway.

"Really," he mentioned, picking up a sleek feather as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began testily. "My name is Alicia Finch. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gargantuan. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tegucigalpa. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he added, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Unreal," she protested. "It was shortly after I came here to Corpus Christi that I met him. I was working as an editor. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Food Blitz. Oh, he seemed corpulent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Trent Spooner. He works at the antique store on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jacobs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a biscuit in Corpus Christi 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 ruminating at the pool hall when he sailed in and started to calculate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frown at that relaxed kook," she sobbed.

He handed her a corsage and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her hearing aid looked porcelain. "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 adrenal gland tenderly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fix my firecracker if I didn't watch," she replied. "I said he's a happy Guinea pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spooner?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Corpus Christi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cheerfully, "did Mister Spooner ever talk about someone named Broderick Bobble?

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

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

She looked at him woefully. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she chanted, "and I don't want to be in Rochester too long. I hope you can do something about Trent soon."

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

"I can inch to Rochester as soon as I pack a shoe, a fez, and my piece of chalk."

"You'd better take a six-shooter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squawked zestily.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed solemnly out of the office. He stared sharply after her.

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