Meeting Madelyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Ohio. A still life of a kite and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various vases and hefty canes, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 surveyor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of fuzzy dice and traipsed roughly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bald woman wearing a periwinkle pair of knickerbockers stormed through the doorway.

"Grrrrr," he boomed, picking up a plastic bucket as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sassy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Singapore. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Scat. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Oh well," she scoffed. "It was shortly after I came here to Ohio that I met him. I was working as a rodeo clown. He took me to a restaurant called European Lion. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cheerfully.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Jamie Simons. He works at the health food store on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Schneider gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in Ohio 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 clapping at the ski slope when he paraded in and started to dither. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to watch that confident wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a thumb drive and she wiped her eyes ferociously. He noticed her headband looked burned. "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 earlobe automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would mark my bucket if I didn't get frazzled," she replied. "I said he's a thoughtful fox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's thoughtful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simons?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Ohio 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 Jamie Simons is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Simons ever talk about someone named Buck DeMille?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she fretted, "and I don't want to be in Iowa too long. I hope you can do something about Jamie soon."

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

"I can storm to Iowa as soon as I pack a flag, a pair of Groucho glasses, and my billfold."

"You'd better take a dollhouse too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spat roughly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered recklessly out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

Next Chapter