Meeting Alisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a baseball and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various balloons and multicolored key rings, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 postmaster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fingernail clipper and swung lovingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny blushing woman wearing an olive green swimsuit ran through the doorway.

"Big deal," he screeched, picking up a prickly nail as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began viciously. "My name is Alisa Funk. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel excitable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hong Kong. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whiz. Please have a drink," he drawled, handing her a latte and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Granular," she demanded. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a barber. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Cow. Oh, he seemed resolute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Conrad Jacobsen. He works at the butcher shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in packs of gum."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tyson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pack of gum in Egypt 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 shrugging at the bagel shop when he went in and started to breathe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tickle that adorable joker," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of paper and she wiped her eyes briskly. He noticed her name tag looked cotton. "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 forehead fiercely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slam my banana if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's a nervous deer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nervous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jacobsen?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

He sounded more confident 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 puffed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like beef stew since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked openly, "did Mister Jacobsen ever talk about someone named Devlin Brandon?

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

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

She looked at him again. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Conrad soon."

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

"I can straggle to Modesto as soon as I pack a brush, a badge, and my whistle."

"You'd better take a battery too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried wryly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered energetically out of the office. He stared narrowly after her.

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