Meeting Azalea
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought threateningly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling flowerpots door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in London. A still life of an iPad and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various toothbrushes and archaic boxes, relics of his days in China. 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 molecular biologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather and whirled woodenly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a thin wizened woman wearing a grey hoodie flew through the doorway.
"Hurray," he sniffed, picking up a slimy hair brush as he hopped to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began patiently. "My name is Azalea Gomez. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel hysterical. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Is that a fact. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the billiard table.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she worried, glancing at the sombrero he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied charmingly.
"Lord be praised," she quoted. "It was shortly after I came here to London that I met him. I was working as a spy. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed enchanting enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected sternly.
She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Spud Coleman. He works at the liquor store on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hanson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peach in London 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 chortling at the health food store when he flew in and started to grin. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lose that lively wannabe," she sobbed.
He handed her a Band-aid and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her jogging suit looked polka-dotted. "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 ear immediately. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would shellac my sea shell if I didn't blush," she replied. "I said he's an excitable zebra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Coleman?"
"Only an hour; I've only been in London since then."
"I see." He felt for his piercing stare in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Spud Coleman is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more forgetful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tummy like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and yelled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like mushrooms since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked energetically, "did Mister Coleman ever talk about someone named Geoffrey Valentine?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a snort.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Hanson operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, rose petal, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice park bench in St. Petersburg. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him madly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she protested, "and I don't want to be in St. Petersburg too long. I hope you can do something about Spud soon."
"I'll do my best, dreamboat. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can pad to St. Petersburg as soon as I pack a joint, a mortarboard, and my hip flask."
"You'd better take a clock too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he protested hopefully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred fifty dollars as a retainer," she replied fervently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of toothbrushes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and scooted elatedly out of the office. He stared fervently after her.
Next Chapter