Meeting Alberta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Liberia. A still life of a cardboard box and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various crystal balls and porcelain teddy bears, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 minister, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird bath and padded daringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge emaciated woman wearing a scarlet bikini sallied forth through the doorway.

"Bada bing bada boom," he mentioned, picking up a leather basketball as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began obediently. "My name is Alberta MacDonald. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel quiet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Clarksville. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Praise the Lord. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a cup of hot cider and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Aha," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Liberia that I met him. I was working as a drummer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Restaurant. Oh, he seemed enchanting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glumly.

She stared into her cup of hot cider. "His name's Bert Day. He works at the grocery store on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes of Kleenex."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Morrissey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box of Kleenex in Liberia 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 cheering at the disco when he staggered in and started to breathe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that grizzled demon," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her sport coat looked rare. "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 skin positively. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would weigh my urn if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's a beautiful puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's beautiful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Day?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Liberia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked boisterously, "did Mister Day ever talk about someone named Horsie Hogan?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she intimated, "and I don't want to be in Memphis too long. I hope you can do something about Bert soon."

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

"I can sprint to Memphis as soon as I pack a cactus plant, a business suit, and my teacup."

"You'd better take a pack of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted innocently.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled patiently out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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