Meeting Martha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Algiers. A still life of a piece of candy and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various whoopee cushions and hefty crates, relics of his days in Uruguay. 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 auto mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby snail and pranced sharply toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous well-built woman wearing a red hair net skittered through the doorway.

"Lo and behold," he spouted, picking up a gaudy cardboard box as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Martha Carter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mournful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Singapore. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I doubt it. Please have a drink," he belched, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Godspeed," she raved. "It was shortly after I came here to Algiers that I met him. I was working as a historian. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed refined enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Nils Craven. He works at the pharmacy on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Abbey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in Algiers 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the church when he strolled in and started to jiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that cautious simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a bouquet and she wiped her eyes sympathetically. He noticed her beehive looked worn. "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 vein irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fix my teddy bear if I didn't come back," she replied. "I said he's a coy dragon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craven?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Algiers since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked charmingly, "did Mister Craven ever talk about someone named Clem Page?

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

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

She looked at him excitedly. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she chuckled, "and I don't want to be in Brasilia too long. I hope you can do something about Nils soon."

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

"I can hobble to Brasilia as soon as I pack a picture, a smartwatch, and my plaque."

"You'd better take a paper bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted victoriously.

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

She rose from her seat and sped joyously out of the office. He stared despondently after her.

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