Meeting Andrea

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

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

The office was adorned with various calculators and gruesome urns, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 sword swallower, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby air compressor and pranced trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal attractive woman wearing a sparkly towel waddled through the doorway.

"Kaboom," he winked, picking up a frilly piece of chalk as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sweetly. "My name is Andrea Kaiser. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intense. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Eau Claire. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "No way. Please have a drink," he howled, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Spiff," she enunciated. "It was shortly after I came here to Spain that I met him. I was working as an ice skater. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Fork. Oh, he seemed yappy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Jacques Lewis. He works at the dry cleaner on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flash drives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stucky gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flash drive in Spain 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 yelling at the Elvis chapel when he tumbled in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to irritate that cruel flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a pumpkin and she wiped her eyes craftily. He noticed her pair of pantaloons looked striped. "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 big toe warmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shellac my comb if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a sensible anaconda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sensible.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lewis?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Spain since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked needlessly, "did Mister Lewis ever talk about someone named Ken Burt?

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

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

She looked at him unnaturally. "I'm nobody's kitten," she demanded, "and I don't want to be in São Paulo too long. I hope you can do something about Jacques soon."

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

"I can sashay to São Paulo as soon as I pack a pair of headphones, a bow tie, and my stapler."

"You'd better take a dollar bill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mentioned patiently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred fifty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied busily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cardboard boxes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and clambered gracefully out of the office. He stared zestily after her.

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