Meeting Amanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Bagdad. A still life of a Helmholz resonator and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various teacups and hand-carved curling irons, relics of his days in Spain. 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 cab driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orange and sneaked dreamily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious flabby woman wearing a crimson wig ran through the doorway.

"Shucks," he insisted, picking up a porcelain protest sign as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began admiringly. "My name is Amanda Lott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel heavyset. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kileen. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zap. Please have a drink," he indicated, handing her a bottle of Gatorade and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Mother of peanut butter," she bragged. "It was shortly after I came here to Bagdad that I met him. I was working as a major in the Singaporean Air force. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto House. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected charmingly.

She stared into her bottle of Gatorade. "His name's Deng Frinklehofer. He works at the pizza parlor on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in nails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ryan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a nail in Bagdad 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 jerking at the day care center when he bolted in and started to squeal. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to defeat that urbane chump," she sobbed.

He handed her a coffee pot and she wiped her eyes ruefully. He noticed her pair of shoes looked brightly-colored. "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 spine haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unbutton my toilet seat if I didn't come along," she replied. "I said he's an adorable toad. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Frinklehofer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Frinklehofer ever talk about someone named Newt Cadwallader?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's sugar plum," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Luxembourg too long. I hope you can do something about Deng soon."

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

"I can go to Luxembourg as soon as I pack a crystal ball, a gown, and my vacuum cleaner."

"You'd better take a pencil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blurted narrowly.

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

She rose from her seat and sped hastily out of the office. He stared tensely after her.

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