Meeting Magdalena

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Huntsville. A still life of a dollhouse and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Egyptian mummies and delicate dog biscuits, relics of his days in Canada. 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 bureaucrat, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby wastebasket and flounced zestily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky blue-eyed woman wearing a terra cotta pair of contact lenses clambered through the doorway.

"What in tarnation," he chimed, picking up a cheap cigarette lighter as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began craftily. "My name is Magdalena Barberry. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sexy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Savannah. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Retch. Please have a drink," he reasoned, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"That's crazy talk," she shrieked. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as a prankster. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Dragon. Oh, he seemed sensible enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lickety-split.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Doc Shaw. He works at the pizza parlor on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper clips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gleason gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper clip in Huntsville 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 looking dumb at the Wal-Mart when he galloped in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that clever thug," she sobbed.

He handed her a pizza and she wiped her eyes ignobly. He noticed her vest looked cardboard. "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 hairdo suddenly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cover my cage if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a merry canary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Shaw?"

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

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

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

He sounded more brassy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his eyelid 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 marijuana since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked happily, "did Mister Shaw ever talk about someone named Hoss Suzuki?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Gleason operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice housing project in Atlanta. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she shrieked, "and I don't want to be in Atlanta too long. I hope you can do something about Doc soon."

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

"I can stagger to Atlanta as soon as I pack a soccer ball, a tunic, and my diary."

"You'd better take a brochure too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stated glumly.

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

She rose from her seat and set out coolly out of the office. He stared fearlessly after her.

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