Meeting Anastasia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Niger. A still life of a compass and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pepper grinders and fresh potatoes, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 plumber, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby plaque and bounded urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump bony woman wearing a teal shirt bounded through the doorway.

"Uh," he began, picking up an electric bird feeder as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cocky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Nairobi. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can it. Please have a drink," he stormed, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Beats me," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Niger that I met him. I was working as a counselor. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Mountain. Oh, he seemed tall enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected excitedly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Damien Falcon. He works at the art museum on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tate gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peach in Niger 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 wandering at the Elvis chapel when he sauntered in and started to holler. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scare that fearful loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes angrily. He noticed her diamond necklace looked synthetic. "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 Adam's apple bravely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prohibit my eyelash curler if I didn't lie down," she replied. "I said he's a sarcastic iguana. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sarcastic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Falcon?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Niger since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked perkily, "did Mister Falcon ever talk about someone named Armand Bartholomew?

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

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

She looked at him daringly. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she blurted, "and I don't want to be in Yemen too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can speed to Yemen as soon as I pack a sack, a hoop skirt, and my pigeon."

"You'd better take a bird cage too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reminded greedily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-four dollars as a retainer," she replied pitifully. 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 trekked viciously out of the office. He stared caustically after her.

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