Meeting Anastasia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Newark. A still life of a napkin and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ropes and sophisticated pacifiers, relics of his days in Angola. 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 pediatrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby primrose and clambered angrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt adorable woman wearing a polka dotted Superman costume waltzed through the doorway.

"Pish posh," he lectured, picking up a polished napkin as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began clumsily. "My name is Anastasia Jetson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel high-strung. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dayton. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Peachy-keen. Please have a drink," he joked, handing her a hot buttered rum and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Stoked," she stormed. "It was shortly after I came here to Newark that I met him. I was working as a meteorologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Winery. Oh, he seemed selfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected diligently.

She stared into her hot buttered rum. "His name's Michael Albrandt. He works at the clothing store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in statues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Giordano gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a statue in Newark 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 yawning at the swimming pool when he ambled in and started to tread water. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to astonish that bouncy hack," she sobbed.

He handed her a china doll and she wiped her eyes uneasily. He noticed her gold medal looked nice. "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 fingernail roughly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pinch my baby doll if I didn't pass out," she replied. "I said he's a decent jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Albrandt?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Newark since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hastily, "did Mister Albrandt ever talk about someone named Jules Suzuki?

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

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

She looked at him vigorously. "I'm nobody's pookie," she declared, "and I don't want to be in Oslo too long. I hope you can do something about Michael soon."

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

"I can skitter to Oslo as soon as I pack a doll, a beret, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a billiard ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed viciously.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed arrogantly out of the office. He stared glumly after her.

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