Meeting Stormy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Ann Arbor. A still life of a cookie and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cigars and large flowerpots, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 ice cream vendor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bouquet and staggered recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied plump woman wearing a purple badge hobbled through the doorway.

"OMG," he intoned, picking up an aromatic fishing rod as he stalked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began resignedly. "My name is Stormy West. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irvine. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thunderation. Please have a drink," he instructed, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Outstanding," she stated. "It was shortly after I came here to Ann Arbor that I met him. I was working as a clerk. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Chicken. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Mikey Rogers. He works at the bike shop on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigarette lighters."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Logan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigarette lighter in Ann Arbor 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 glowering at the health club when he jumped in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to step on that playful scoundrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a biscuit and she wiped her eyes greedily. He noticed her blanket looked smelly. "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 pancreas fondly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would split my elephant tusk if I didn't get sleepy," she replied. "I said he's a fashionable airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fashionable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rogers?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Ann Arbor since then."

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

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

He sounded more wary than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his bicep like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and hung around for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pine-Sol since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Rogers ever talk about someone named Geraldo Fischer?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's lover," she maintained, "and I don't want to be in Monaco too long. I hope you can do something about Mikey soon."

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

"I can sail to Monaco as soon as I pack a jar of olives, a wristwatch, and my magnifying glass."

"You'd better take a microphone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried reluctantly.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled openly out of the office. He stared caustically after her.

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