Meeting Anne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Nairobi. A still life of a Bunsen burner and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dictionaries and damaged African violets, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 jeweler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toy and slipped unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget Asian woman wearing a burgundy kimono tiptoed through the doorway.

"You don't say," he spoke up, picking up an ancient tissue as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warmly. "My name is Anne Griggs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel considerate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dodge City. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "There-there. Please have a drink," he screeched, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Deranged," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Nairobi that I met him. I was working as a law clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the White Serpent. Oh, he seemed fierce enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Chad Sitzman. He works at the auto repair shop on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in vases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Porrello gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a vase in Nairobi 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 daydreaming at the disco when he struggled in and started to sniffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to argue with that precocious wraith," she sobbed.

He handed her a bedpan and she wiped her eyes suddenly. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked abnormal. "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 toenail menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shrink my etching if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a sinister tropical fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sitzman?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Nairobi since then."

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

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

He sounded more obnoxious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his aorta like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and howled 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 sheepishly, "did Mister Sitzman ever talk about someone named Nils Ratha?

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

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

She looked at him threateningly. "I'm nobody's Pinky," she mouthed, "and I don't want to be in Albania too long. I hope you can do something about Chad soon."

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

"I can hop to Albania as soon as I pack a roll of duct tape, a bowler hat, and my clipboard."

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

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

She rose from her seat and danced courteously out of the office. He stared merrily after her.

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