Meeting Anna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Caracas. A still life of a pinwheel and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various batons and crude cupcakes, relics of his days in Finland. 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 bootlegger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing rod and scurried impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed redheaded woman wearing a jet black tailcoat hopped through the doorway.

"Behold," he called, picking up a frilly box of Kleenex as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Overland Park. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tubular. Please have a drink," he remarked, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Gawwwleeee," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Caracas that I met him. I was working as an errand runner. He took me to a restaurant called Berlin Gastropub. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fearlessly.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Cameron Rush. He works at the library on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in suitcases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bailey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a suitcase in Caracas 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 scratching at the carnival when he dove in and started to grow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to rebuff that sassy knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a flowerpot and she wiped her eyes victoriously. He noticed her ribbon 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 bladder nicely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wipe my bag of ice if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a haughty ring-tailed lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's haughty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rush?"

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

He sounded more heavyset than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his heel like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and threw up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a baby's diaper since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked admiringly, "did Mister Rush ever talk about someone named Octavio Emerson?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Katmandu too long. I hope you can do something about Cameron soon."

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

"I can slink to Katmandu as soon as I pack a hair dryer, a flour sack, and my mop."

"You'd better take a helmet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered sarcastically.

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

She rose from her seat and swung doubtfully out of the office. He stared shyly after her.

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