Meeting Anna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Senegal. A still life of a peace pipe and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pain pills and speckled hats, relics of his days in Laos. 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 jeweler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby barbell and slid unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth spindly woman wearing a pea green set of scrubs slid through the doorway.

"Cowabunga," he yawned, picking up a smelly bicycle as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began joyously. "My name is Anna Vincent. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shreveport. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my. Please have a drink," he chimed, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Gadzooks," she preached. "It was shortly after I came here to Senegal that I met him. I was working as a clarinetist. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Chophouse. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Gilbert Pavlov. He works at the fortune teller shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of soup."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Day gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of soup 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 chuckling at the radio station when he went in and started to gesticulate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to judge that sophisticated whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a mushroom and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her hearing aid looked stiff. "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 piehole nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enshrine my floppy disk if I didn't spit," she replied. "I said he's a fearless pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pavlov?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Senegal 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 Gilbert Pavlov is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked briskly, "did Mister Pavlov ever talk about someone named Cody Kemp?

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

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

She looked at him perkily. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she indicated, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about Gilbert soon."

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

"I can bound to Seychelles as soon as I pack a doll, a pair of culottes, and my spider."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screamed smoothly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred fifty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied gingerly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of thumb drives. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted despondently out of the office. He stared boisterously after her.

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