Meeting Angie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Germany. A still life of a can of sardines and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pianos and important magazines, relics of his days in Malta. 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 mediator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby campaign sign and jogged madly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty thin woman wearing a periwinkle dog collar tore through the doorway.

"Ten-four," he chanted, picking up a porcelain roll of duct tape as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel energetic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her horn made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "That's crazy talk. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a latte and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

"This is difficult for me," she swore, glancing at the pair of flip-flops he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"@#%#^@%$@!," she sighed. "It was shortly after I came here to Germany that I met him. I was working as a professional dancer. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Cuisine. Oh, he seemed conscientious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Lawrence Worm. He works at the bike shop on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperweights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bear gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperweight in Germany 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 pacing at the pet store when he slumped in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that sinister weirdo," she sobbed.

He handed her a yo-yo and she wiped her eyes immediately. He noticed her pair of sandals looked brittle. "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 jokingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hide my crayon if I didn't peep," she replied. "I said he's a diabolical goblin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's diabolical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Worm?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Worm ever talk about someone named Kirby Brown?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Bear operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, big lug, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice teepee in New Haven. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him woodenly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she persisted, "and I don't want to be in New Haven too long. I hope you can do something about Lawrence soon."

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

"I can gallop to New Haven as soon as I pack a campaign sign, a flak jacket, and my pair of binoculars."

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

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

She rose from her seat and lumbered fiercely out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.

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