Meeting Anne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the Amazon. A still life of a bottle and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various vases and bent screwdrivers, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 lawyer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby deck of cards and reeled craftily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall cadaverous woman wearing a brown midi skirt zipped through the doorway.

"Great Scott," he snarled, picking up a fluffy suitcase as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Anne Emmons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Caracas. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Well I'll be. Please have a drink," he mouthed, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Hmm," she acknowledged. "It was shortly after I came here to the Amazon that I met him. I was working as a soccer coach. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical House of Delights. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected threateningly.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Pete Goossens. He works at the cigar store on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pickles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Duke gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pickle in the Amazon 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 fulminating at the movie theater when he zoomed in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peek at that coy old buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a campaign sign and she wiped her eyes nicely. He noticed her fez looked sophisticated. "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 leg blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would seize my toothbrush if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's an energetic eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's energetic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goossens?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dreamily, "did Mister Goossens ever talk about someone named Dick Al-Ghareeb?

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

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

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she blurted, "and I don't want to be in Topeka too long. I hope you can do something about Pete soon."

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

"I can slink to Topeka as soon as I pack a model airplane, a tie, and my salt shaker."

"You'd better take a firecracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he quoted gracefully.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled smoothly out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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