Meeting Michaela

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Philadelphia. A still life of a stapler and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various comic books and musty stuffed owls, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pain pill and marched suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite cadaverous woman wearing an olive drab set of braces went through the doorway.

"Granular," he whined, picking up a sleek rope as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began arrogantly. "My name is Michaela Carter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel intrepid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Par bleu. Please have a drink," he warbled, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"For Pete's sake," she reacted. "It was shortly after I came here to Philadelphia that I met him. I was working as a court jester. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Palace. Oh, he seemed self-confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Howard Alexander. He works at the storage unit on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fossils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esser gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fossil in Philadelphia 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 laughing at the ski resort when he tumbled in and started to jiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to investigate that arrogant dorf," she sobbed.

He handed her a diamond and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her flour sack looked authentic. "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 ankle speedily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my peanut if I didn't look angry," she replied. "I said he's a yappy ass. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's yappy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Alexander?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fearfully, "did Mister Alexander ever talk about someone named Alexander Saramago?

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

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

She looked at him caustically. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about Howard soon."

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

"I can hop to Bogotá as soon as I pack a hubcap, a midi skirt, and my ashtray."

"You'd better take a broom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted positively.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled slyly out of the office. He stared majestically after her.

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