Meeting Antonia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Bangalore. A still life of a mirror and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stuffed kittens and ruined stones, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 surgeon, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby top and stalked stealthily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small small woman wearing a terra cotta sweater hobbled through the doorway.

"Fiddlesticks," he responded, picking up a sleek Bunsen burner as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Antonia Marchetti. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wowsers. Please have a drink," he begged, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Dadgum," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Bangalore that I met him. I was working as a gemcutter. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Galaxy. Oh, he seemed miniscule enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopefully.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Horst Weeden. He works at the pharmacy on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pumpkins."

"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 pumpkin in Bangalore 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 adjusting at the movie theater when he ambled in and started to sigh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that repulsive villain," she sobbed.

He handed her a paperweight and she wiped her eyes brightly. He noticed her pair of Reeboks looked ordinary. "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 throat bitterly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smear my daisy if I didn't primp," she replied. "I said he's a prissy rabbit. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's prissy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Weeden?"

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

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

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

He sounded more self-confident than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his ankle like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and slobbered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like new mown hay since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked timidly, "did Mister Weeden ever talk about someone named Octavio Koch?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's lover," she groveled, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Horst soon."

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

"I can inch to Slovenia as soon as I pack a pair of knitting needles, a bikini, and my badge."

"You'd better take an orange too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he barked gracefully.

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

She rose from her seat and sped tensely out of the office. He stared madly after her.

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