Meeting Fran

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Senegal. A still life of a curling iron and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pickles and gooey ukuleles, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 geologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coffee pot and sailed silently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny ruddy woman wearing a pink tinfoil hat tiptoed through the doorway.

"Yummy," he responded, picking up a synthetic corsage as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began menacingly. "My name is Fran Anderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel freakish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Miami. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Kaboom," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Senegal that I met him. I was working as a gambler. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Diner. Oh, he seemed smart enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quietly.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Kris Ellington. He works at the insurance agency on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pillows."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cradduck gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pillow in Senegal 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 fainting at the carnival when he swaggered in and started to tremble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that brazen baby," she sobbed.

He handed her a rose and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked delicate. "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 esophagus temperamentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whirl my tissue if I didn't expectorate," she replied. "I said he's a charming leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's charming.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ellington?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Senegal since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Ellington ever talk about someone named Louis Cramer?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Cradduck operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, rose petal, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice hotel in the Swiss Alps. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him carefully. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she conversed, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Kris soon."

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

"I can inch to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a pigeon, a cat suit, and my dollar bill."

"You'd better take a pair of dice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed sagely.

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

She rose from her seat and lumbered crankily out of the office. He stared repeatedly after her.

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