Meeting Theresa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Serbia. A still life of a bottle of perfume and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various apples and archaic orchids, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 florist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ingot of plutonium and walked miserably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight blond woman wearing a camouflage fur coat skittered through the doorway.

"Retch," he peeped, picking up an imported paperweight as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ferociously. "My name is Theresa Hanson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lethargic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Irvine. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shazam. Please have a drink," he yawned, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Great balls of fire," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to Serbia that I met him. I was working as an illustrator. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed miniscule enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Socks Feeley. He works at the ad agency on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magazines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kennedy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magazine in Serbia 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 rejoicing at the miniature golf course when he hopped in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to talk to that megalomaniacal vile viper," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes warily. He noticed her set of vampire fangs looked gaudy. "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 finger gruffly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would weigh my bedpan if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal dormouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Feeley?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Serbia since then."

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

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

He sounded more intense than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his throat 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 apple pie since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked gratefully, "did Mister Feeley ever talk about someone named Rumpelstiltskin Bentzinger?

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

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's baby," she hollered, "and I don't want to be in Croatia too long. I hope you can do something about Socks soon."

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

"I can skid to Croatia as soon as I pack a calculator, a bicycle helmet, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he phrased crossly.

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

She rose from her seat and lurched viciously out of the office. He stared angrily after her.

Next Chapter