Meeting Madalyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in St. Louis. A still life of a baby doll and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hammers and luxurious computers, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 escort, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toolbox and inched angrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy feeble woman wearing a golden gunny sack cantered through the doorway.

"I'm outta here," he roared, picking up an authentic flower as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Madalyn Aguilar. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wicked. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ack. Please have a drink," he piped up, handing her a whiskey and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Never," she worried. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Louis that I met him. I was working as a dog walker. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Fortress. Oh, he seemed passionate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woefully.

She stared into her whiskey. "His name's Christian Spangler. He works at the restaurant on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bugles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lions gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bugle in St. Louis 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 mumbling at the restaurant when he sneaked in and started to look dumb. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that self-assured wraith," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of toilet paper and she wiped her eyes perkily. He noticed her tank top looked damaged. "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 hangnail effortlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would poke my doily if I didn't drool," she replied. "I said he's a quiet iguana. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spangler?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in St. Louis since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Spangler ever talk about someone named Rutherford Perry?

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

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

She looked at him offhandedly. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she rebutted, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Christian soon."

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

"I can stride to Bangalore as soon as I pack a microscope, a gas mask, and my flute."

"You'd better take a toolbox too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he noted dolorously.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed excitedly out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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