Meeting Annalouise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of a joint and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peanuts and rusty flags, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 comedian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby diamond and skittered grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony tiny woman wearing a brilliant orange pair of gloves inched through the doorway.

"I'm so sure," he barked, picking up a crude basketball as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frenetically. "My name is Annalouise Yang. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel articulate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hong Kong. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Absolutely. Please have a drink," he joked, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Blah," she moaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a locksmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Chef. Oh, he seemed dependable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Perry Hastings. He works at the ad agency on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of scissors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cutler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of scissors in Rochester 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 gyro shop when he scampered in and started to gaze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to split up with that princely nerd," she sobbed.

He handed her a statue and she wiped her eyes nervously. He noticed her negligee looked miniature. "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 hand ignobly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roast my purse if I didn't stare into space," she replied. "I said he's a jolly orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's jolly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hastings?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister Hastings ever talk about someone named Rick Cadwallader?

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

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

She looked at him hastily. "I'm nobody's bud," she offered, "and I don't want to be in Georgia too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can tumble to Georgia as soon as I pack a rag, a bodysuit, and my curling iron."

"You'd better take a pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rambled uneasily.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed calmly out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

Next Chapter