Meeting Azalea
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought brashly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling maps door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Spain. A still life of a key and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various footballs and multicolored buttons, 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 telephone operator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby antenna and darted thankfully toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a chubby dashing woman wearing a chocolate brown feather boa rolled through the doorway.
"Ick," he yawned, picking up a waxy bell as he tramped to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began speedily. "My name is Azalea Worm. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel silly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Algiers. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bah. Please have a drink," he requested, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the TV.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she argued, glancing at the pair of Groucho glasses he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied peevishly.
"Pow," she smiled. "It was shortly after I came here to Spain that I met him. I was working as a cartographer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Bliss. Oh, he seemed timid enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected uselessly.
She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Scotty Oswald. He works at the pharmacy on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spoons."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Plummer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spoon in Spain 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 burping at the city park when he dashed in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to hide from that petulant worm," she sobbed.
He handed her a bugle and she wiped her eyes ingeniously. He noticed her fedora looked leather. "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 hair courteously. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would paint my bagpipe if I didn't go limp," she replied. "I said he's a self-confident nightingale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-confident.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Oswald?"
"Only a second; I've only been in Spain since then."
"I see." He felt for his mosquito net in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Scotty Oswald is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more excitable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hair like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and wailed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like gardenias since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Oswald ever talk about someone named Albert Moreland?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a finger gun.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Plummer operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, buttercup, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice box in Barcelona. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him noisily. "I'm nobody's buttercup," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Barcelona too long. I hope you can do something about Scotty soon."
"I'll do my best, apple of my eye. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can fly to Barcelona as soon as I pack a bag of potato chips, a poncho, and my rubber stamp."
"You'd better take a compass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he concluded effortlessly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred forty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied cautiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of crystal balls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and inched joyously out of the office. He stared brightly after her.
Next Chapter