Meeting Angie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Berlin. A still life of a rose and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cigars and nifty vases, relics of his days in Laos. 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 dance instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing pole and swung busily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender gaunt woman wearing an aquamarine headband marched through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he groaned, picking up a petite thumb drive as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lovingly. "My name is Angie Frizzlewump. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Stockton. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Heck. Please have a drink," he gabbed, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"How about that," she instructed. "It was shortly after I came here to Berlin that I met him. I was working as a gardener. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Oven. Oh, he seemed bad enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Jesus Salinger. He works at the pizza parlor on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finch gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Berlin 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 getting dizzy at the orchestra concert when he barrelled in and started to snuffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to love that ignoble savage," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigar and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her pair of safety glasses 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 intestine cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would melt my sack if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a repulsive fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's repulsive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Salinger?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stealthily, "did Mister Salinger ever talk about someone named Ira Tubman?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's noodle," she noted, "and I don't want to be in Gainesville too long. I hope you can do something about Jesus soon."

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

"I can roll to Gainesville as soon as I pack a remote control, a belt buckle, and my duffel bag."

"You'd better take a purse too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled gently.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped cunningly out of the office. He stared clumsily after her.

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