Meeting Anne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Tokyo. A still life of an acorn and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pacifiers and wet spiders, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 jazz musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tape measure and inched reluctantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat elegant woman wearing a blue headband careened through the doorway.

"Holy buckets," he intoned, picking up a dusty dollar bill as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crossly. "My name is Anne Thompson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel apoplectic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Midland. Her cheek made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hmm. Please have a drink," he stuttered, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Shiver me timbers," she blubbered. "It was shortly after I came here to Tokyo that I met him. I was working as a baseball player. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Butcher. Oh, he seemed sensible enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected softly.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Anthony Frinklehofer. He works at the supermarket on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pinwheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Selby gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pinwheel in Tokyo 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 grunting at the K-Mart when he scampered in and started to tread water. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to try to control that smart moron," she sobbed.

He handed her a bell and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her heavy layer of makeup looked ornate. "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 foot breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hack my bat if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a brassy cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Frinklehofer?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Tokyo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ruefully, "did Mister Frinklehofer ever talk about someone named Quentin Martinez?

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

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

She looked at him demurely. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she sputtered, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Anthony soon."

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

"I can sprint to Antarctica as soon as I pack a floppy disk, a kimono, and my hair dryer."

"You'd better take a pinwheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blustered wearily.

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

She rose from her seat and went courageously out of the office. He stared thankfully after her.

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