Meeting Angie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Slovenia. A still life of a football and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coconuts and handy bagpipes, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 huckster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby statue and cantered surreptitiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal plump woman wearing a lavender sport coat sailed through the doorway.

"Oh joy," he requested, picking up a fancy diamond as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Angie Fretwell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prickly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Wichita. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dang it. Please have a drink," he repeated, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Yowee," she appealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Slovenia that I met him. I was working as a doorman. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Plate. Oh, he seemed haughty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ruefully.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Plato Zhu. He works at the jewelry store on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Radcliffe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rock in Slovenia 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 applauding at the bagel shop when he jogged in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to neglect that sketchy pig," she sobbed.

He handed her a ticket and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her set of braces looked striking. "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 eyebrow gratefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would score my sponge if I didn't go limp," she replied. "I said he's an obese jellyfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obese.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zhu?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Slovenia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked majestically, "did Mister Zhu ever talk about someone named Ian Bergstrom?

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

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

She looked at him sternly. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she exclaimed, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Plato soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Tallahassee as soon as I pack an advertisement, a pair of suspenders, and my thumb drive."

"You'd better take a bird bath too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped cautiously.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled menacingly out of the office. He stared admiringly after her.

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