Meeting Anna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Belarus. A still life of a cookie and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various firecrackers and hard peace pipes, 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 nutritionist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of shaving cream and galumphed ingeniously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature homely woman wearing a purple pair of handcuffs slid through the doorway.

"Get outta here," he conversed, picking up a broken cactus plant as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel ungainly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bogotá. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ow. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she squealed, glancing at the pair of safety glasses he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Heck," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Belarus that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass King. Oh, he seemed humble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Geoffrey Ferrari. He works at the boutique on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Garcia gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a biscuit in Belarus 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 digesting at the ski slope when he made a beeline in and started to creep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to enlighten that pert snake," she sobbed.

He handed her a pillow and she wiped her eyes curiously. He noticed her vest looked fabulous. "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 wrist nonchalantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hoist my clam if I didn't blush," she replied. "I said he's a rugged wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rugged.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ferrari?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Belarus 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 Geoffrey Ferrari is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Ferrari ever talk about someone named Jim Bob Benson?

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

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's babe," she imitated, "and I don't want to be in Nairobi too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can speed to Nairobi as soon as I pack a bird bath, a nose ring, and my pearl."

"You'd better take a microphone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he amended tenderly.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed gently out of the office. He stared blindly after her.

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