Meeting Ana

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Montgomery. A still life of a brush and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various darts and mechanical ping-pong paddles, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 telemarketer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and skipped dubiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard homely woman wearing a peach cummerbund darted through the doorway.

"Now we're talking," he stammered, picking up a rare vacuum cleaner as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began needlessly. "My name is Ana Van Heusen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel attractive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wilmington. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm stoked. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Loopers," she quavered. "It was shortly after I came here to Montgomery that I met him. I was working as an au pair. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Dragon. Oh, he seemed petulant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected properly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Blake Dewey. He works at the psychic reading business on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Garcia gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Montgomery 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the spelling bee when he bolted in and started to purr. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to compliment that evil reptile," she sobbed.

He handed her a coat hanger and she wiped her eyes sheepishly. He noticed her robe looked fresh. "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 aorta strangely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would condemn my Kindle if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious elk. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dewey?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Montgomery since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked vacantly, "did Mister Dewey ever talk about someone named Sean Gustafson?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's dearie," she burbled, "and I don't want to be in Liverpool too long. I hope you can do something about Blake soon."

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

"I can jump to Liverpool as soon as I pack a chair, a set of dentures, and my bottle."

"You'd better take a coat check ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he recited suddenly.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk grimly out of the office. He stared silently after her.

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