Meeting Amanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Cyprus. A still life of a church key and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various whoopee cushions and archaic cookies, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 cellist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and strolled brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky nervous woman wearing a jade kimono skidded through the doorway.

"Alright," he stammered, picking up a small banana as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began awkwardly. "My name is Amanda Beagle. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel jaunty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Porto Alegre. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh. Please have a drink," he agreed, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Darn," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Cyprus that I met him. I was working as a cardiologist. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Oven. Oh, he seemed comely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected valiantly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Calvin North. He works at the boutique on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wastebaskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Metzger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wastebasket in Cyprus 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 dawdling at the poetry reading when he galloped in and started to go limp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to try to control that sweet sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her a tube of toothpaste and she wiped her eyes hysterically. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked clean. "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 tummy properly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roll my air compressor if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a bilious anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bilious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. North?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lightly, "did Mister North ever talk about someone named Benjamin Conrad?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can bolt to Peoria as soon as I pack a painting, a garland, and my can of beans."

"You'd better take a joint too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he jeered miserably.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled hungrily out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

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