Meeting Madeline

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought pitifully. 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 second floor of an aging building in Trenton. A still life of a spittoon and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hockey pucks and wooden clocks, relics of his days in India. 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 drunkard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby deck of cards and straggled solemnly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous haggard woman wearing a grey pair of glasses slithered through the doorway.

"Alrighty," he groveled, picking up a damaged flute as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began frenetically. "My name is Madeline Ansler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dark. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington DC. Her eye made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blimey. Please have a drink," he blurted, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Holy cow," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Trenton that I met him. I was working as a high school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woodenly.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Miguel Rosen. He works at the music store on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in combs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Agnew gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a comb in Trenton 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 hiccuping at the swimming pool when he staggered in and started to raise an eyebrow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to neglect that adorable old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a rock and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her few stolen rags looked wooden. "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 head mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would push my broom if I didn't die," she replied. "I said he's a cowardly dodo bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cowardly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rosen?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Trenton 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 Miguel Rosen is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked openly, "did Mister Rosen ever talk about someone named Anders Madison?

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

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she rumored, "and I don't want to be in the Congo too long. I hope you can do something about Miguel soon."

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

"I can creep to the Congo as soon as I pack a sack, a burqa, and my radio."

"You'd better take a lemon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated breathlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered innocently out of the office. He stared gracefully after her.

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