Meeting Alisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Memphis. A still life of a pair of dice and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various crystal balls and bronze cupcakes, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 professor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mousetrap and stalked dreamily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin gaunt woman wearing a forest green hoop skirt marched through the doorway.

"Quick," he mouthed, picking up an important bird cage as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began silently. "My name is Alisa Meyer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Phoenix. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aha. Please have a drink," he joked, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"By all the saints at the backside door of purgatory," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Memphis that I met him. I was working as a pawnbroker. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Dog. Oh, he seemed haggard enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Jules Morales. He works at the gym on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cream puffs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hayashida gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cream puff in Memphis 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 apologizing at the synagogue when he stormed in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shake that vacuous shyster," she sobbed.

He handed her a hubcap and she wiped her eyes majestically. He noticed her stethoscope looked electronic. "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 abdomen shyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blacken my fish if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a colorless hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's colorless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Morales?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked recklessly, "did Mister Morales ever talk about someone named Jesse Walla?

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

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

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's honey bunch," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Berlin too long. I hope you can do something about Jules soon."

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

"I can stroll to Berlin as soon as I pack a joint, a set of scrubs, and my fish."

"You'd better take a billfold too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated fervently.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed shakily out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

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