Meeting Madison

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

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

The office was cluttered with various towels and brittle pepper grinders, relics of his days in Tibet. 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 crime scene investigator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orchid and zipped threateningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky elegant woman wearing a crimson beehive trekked through the doorway.

"Bleep," he responded, picking up a broken sponge as he ran to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel taciturn. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Managua. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Like, totally. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Land's sakes," she repeated. "It was shortly after I came here to Moldova that I met him. I was working as a valet. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Delicatessen. Oh, he seemed enchanting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deftly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Tyler Stoltenburg. He works at the drug store on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spools of thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Chandler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spool of thread in Moldova 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 belching at the laundromat when he capered in and started to ponder. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poke that haughty ne'er-do-well," she sobbed.

He handed her a fire hose and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her lab coat looked wooden. "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 palm nervously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fry my crystal ball if I didn't play Duck Duck Goose," she replied. "I said he's a sanguine squirrel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sanguine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stoltenburg?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Moldova since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked irritably, "did Mister Stoltenburg ever talk about someone named Harvey Pavlov?

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

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

She looked at him anxiously. "I'm nobody's starlight," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Tennessee too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

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

"I can caper to Tennessee as soon as I pack a whistle, a kimono, and my umbrella."

"You'd better take a bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelled elatedly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered languidly out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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