Meeting Madelyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in the United Arab Emirates. A still life of an acorn and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tennis rackets and hard baby dolls, 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 electrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ticket and sidled furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny hairy woman wearing a navy blue bolo tie struggled through the doorway.

"Holy smokeroo," he peeped, picking up a smooth bicycle as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began offhandedly. "My name is Madelyn Steele. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel presumptuous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montgomery. Her scalp made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Who says?. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Unbelievable," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Arab Emirates that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called the City Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Nicholas Bushnell. He works at the bakery on 6th 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 Edwards gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in the United Arab Emirates 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 burbling at the orchestra concert when he climbed in and started to quiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peck at that charming lunatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a salt shaker and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her pair of shorts looked striking. "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 forehead lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reconsider my playing card if I didn't stare," she replied. "I said he's a friendly ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's friendly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bushnell?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in the United Arab Emirates since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hastily, "did Mister Bushnell ever talk about someone named Wilbur Peters?

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

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

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's darling," she orated, "and I don't want to be in Providence too long. I hope you can do something about Nicholas soon."

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

"I can galumph to Providence as soon as I pack a bedpan, a pair of UGGs, and my comic book."

"You'd better take an artificial flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pleaded defiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed fearlessly out of the office. He stared valiantly after her.

Next Chapter