Meeting Ana

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Washington DC. A still life of a clarinet and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hair dryers and puzzling cigarettes, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 trader, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil and staggered positively toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy flabby woman wearing a burgundy pair of cowboy boots slipped through the doorway.

"Tut-tut," he shrieked, picking up a thick roll of toilet paper as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began testily. "My name is Ana Rudd. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel diabolical. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pueblo. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hush. Please have a drink," he simpered, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington DC that I met him. I was working as a civil servant. He took me to a restaurant called the Silk Bakery. Oh, he seemed gargantuan enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolorously.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Perry Welles. He works at the candy store on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in oriental vases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tinnerman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an oriental vase in Washington DC 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 quivering at the recycling bin when he sidled in and started to type. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stalk that carefree snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her a tablet computer and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her pair of gloves looked multicolored. "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 neck miserably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would propel my cell phone if I didn't shrug," she replied. "I said he's an amiable hog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's amiable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Welles?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister Welles ever talk about someone named José Suskind?

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

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

She looked at him threateningly. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Santa Fe too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can sidle to Santa Fe as soon as I pack a pom-pom, a midi skirt, and my ingot of plutonium."

"You'd better take a cigarette too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he answered needlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline crossly out of the office. He stared haughtily after her.

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