Meeting Madalyn

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

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

The office was adorned with various Kindles and aromatic billfolds, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piano and danced cautiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf spindly woman wearing an olive green set of dentures sprinted through the doorway.

"Well I'll be," he chattered, picking up a cheap clarinet as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began doubtfully. "My name is Madalyn Jacobs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cocky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pow. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a bottle of Gatorade and sitting down on the bench.

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

"This is difficult for me," she repeated, glancing at the pair of cowboy boots he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Just a minute," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Augusta that I met him. I was working as a physical therapist. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Holiday. Oh, he seemed cute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brightly.

She stared into her bottle of Gatorade. "His name's Smiley Slade. He works at the candy store on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in thumb drives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Byers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a thumb drive in Augusta 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 blushing at the pool hall when he darted in and started to watch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mislead that crafty twerp," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes swiftly. He noticed her uniform looked gleaming. "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 paw awkwardly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hammer my piano if I didn't exercise," she replied. "I said he's an absent-minded dachshund. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's absent-minded.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Slade?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Augusta since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grudgingly, "did Mister Slade ever talk about someone named Robin Potatohead?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Byers operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweet pea, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice A-frame in the Netherlands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him neatly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she growled, "and I don't want to be in the Netherlands too long. I hope you can do something about Smiley soon."

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

"I can waddle to the Netherlands as soon as I pack a beach ball, a hat, and my stapler."

"You'd better take a top too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he articulated crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and marched breathlessly out of the office. He stared mysteriously after her.

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