Meeting Madeline

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Thailand. A still life of a flag and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rolls of duct tape and hand-made forks, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 soccer coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and staggered roughly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight well-built woman wearing a striped dog collar waltzed through the doorway.

"Blah," he prattled, picking up a gigantic avocado as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strangely. "My name is Madeline McClain. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sarcastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Poughkeepsie. Her jaw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aaaw. Please have a drink," he rumored, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Eeek," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Thailand that I met him. I was working as a fashion designer. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed sketchy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Anton Fischer. He works at the tattoo parlor on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Arthur gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shoe in Thailand 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 hiding at the saloon when he scurried in and started to stretch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that precocious savage," she sobbed.

He handed her a Band-aid and she wiped her eyes lightly. He noticed her pair of panties looked fluffy. "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 thumb menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would recognize my cotton ball if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a calm gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's calm.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fischer?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Thailand since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Fischer ever talk about someone named Ira Elwood?

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

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

She looked at him lickety-split. "I'm nobody's honey," she chortled, "and I don't want to be in France too long. I hope you can do something about Anton soon."

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

"I can slump to France as soon as I pack a napkin, a tunic, and my baseball bat."

"You'd better take a ruler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered repeatedly.

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

She rose from her seat and sprinted carelessly out of the office. He stared zestily after her.

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