Meeting Annalouise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Delaware. A still life of a hubcap and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paintbrushes and dirty teapots, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 bricklayer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and galumphed caustically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly dashing woman wearing a mauve pair of cowboy boots made a beeline through the doorway.

"Knock me over with a feather," he decided, picking up a large Frisbee as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began doubtfully. "My name is Annalouise Borovich. 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 Acapulco. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless my britches. Please have a drink," he snorted, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Tailfeathers," she opined. "It was shortly after I came here to Delaware that I met him. I was working as a bartender. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Peacock. Oh, he seemed disagreeable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quickly.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Milton Turner. He works at the pet shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in arrowheads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Walton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an arrowhead in Delaware 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 moaning at the gyro shop when he waddled in and started to jump. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cuddle that sophisticated cheater," she sobbed.

He handed her a watering can and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her tie looked nifty. "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 belly fearlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unlock my water bottle if I didn't suffer," she replied. "I said he's a proud burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's proud.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Turner?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Delaware since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crazily, "did Mister Turner ever talk about someone named Mao Gilson?

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

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

She looked at him deliberately. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she quavered, "and I don't want to be in Hong Kong too long. I hope you can do something about Milton soon."

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

"I can blunder to Hong Kong as soon as I pack an ingot of plutonium, a blazer, and my crayon."

"You'd better take a bone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he repeated strictly.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk nonchalantly out of the office. He stared stupidly after her.

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