Meeting Andrea

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a magnifying glass and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various candy canes and rare paperclips, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 candy bar and made a beeline haughtily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky tiny woman wearing a jet black thong walked through the doorway.

"Son of a gun," he hummed, picking up an ancient firecracker as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began merrily. "My name is Andrea Jacobs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel drowsy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he stammered, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Sieg Heil," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a law clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Dragon. Oh, he seemed creepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected caustically.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Chum McGrath. He works at the bar on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fishhooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fishhook in Tijuana 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 waiting at the bagel shop when he tumbled in and started to shrivel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lead that repulsive boogerhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a cotton ball and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her bib looked overgrown. "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 thorax peevishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would uncover my tote bag if I didn't blank out," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McGrath?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lightly, "did Mister McGrath ever talk about someone named Bobby Kim?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Van Hook 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 farmhouse in Sweden. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him crossly. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she blubbered, "and I don't want to be in Sweden too long. I hope you can do something about Chum soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Sweden as soon as I pack a can of soup, a big grin, and my pigeon."

"You'd better take a pail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shouted sheepishly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped charmingly out of the office. He stared warily after her.

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