Meeting Agnes

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Florida. A still life of a coin and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bagpipes and puzzling cream puffs, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 folk singer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and sneaked later toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat dinky woman wearing a yellow body shirt stormed through the doorway.

"Par bleu," he bellowed, picking up a forest green fire hose as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hungrily. "My name is Agnes Holloman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gentle. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cairo. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woohoo. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Boy oh boy," she expressed. "It was shortly after I came here to Florida that I met him. I was working as a prison guard. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Taqueria. Oh, he seemed ambitious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected temperamentally.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Ole Sugarbaker. He works at the music store on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tillerman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in Florida 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 relaxing at the bagel shop when he barrelled in and started to belch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sanitize that bold loon," she sobbed.

He handed her a fossil and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her sweatshirt looked big. "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 ego nervously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expose my feather duster if I didn't lie down," she replied. "I said he's a careful dormouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sugarbaker?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Florida since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked diligently, "did Mister Sugarbaker ever talk about someone named Millicent Ivanov?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a wag of the finger.

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

She looked at him caustically. "I'm nobody's angel," she yelled, "and I don't want to be in Slovakia too long. I hope you can do something about Ole soon."

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

"I can bolt to Slovakia as soon as I pack a daisy, a negligee, and my paper airplane."

"You'd better take a pepper grinder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled fearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed fearlessly out of the office. He stared despondently after her.

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