Meeting Madison

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought impatiently. 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 sixth floor of an aging building in Quebec. A still life of a chart and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various washrags and modern cans of beer, relics of his days in the United States. 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 tour guide, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bottle of perfume and sauntered warily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy frail woman wearing a periwinkle bow tie slipped through the doorway.

"Rats," he enunciated, picking up a used toilet plunger as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Madison Watts. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kabul. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-huh. Please have a drink," he explained, handing her a hot toddy and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Sure," she stuttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Quebec that I met him. I was working as a cab driver. He took me to a restaurant called the New Lion. Oh, he seemed radiant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected boldly.

She stared into her hot toddy. "His name's Smiley Rudd. He works at the movie theater on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corncobs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Moodle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corncob in Quebec 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 getting frazzled at the bedroom when he waded in and started to bounce. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to forget that frantic cur," she sobbed.

He handed her a picture and she wiped her eyes shakily. He noticed her Panama hat looked art deco. "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 abdomen hungrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would harden my piggy bank if I didn't wander," she replied. "I said he's an ungainly moose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ungainly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rudd?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Quebec since then."

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

"Okay, so this Smiley Rudd 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 buttocks like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and vegetated for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like elderberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked impatiently, "did Mister Rudd ever talk about someone named Ethan Funk?

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

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

She looked at him fearfully. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she croaked, "and I don't want to be in Arkansas too long. I hope you can do something about Smiley soon."

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

"I can jump to Arkansas as soon as I pack a notebook, a beehive, and my garbage can."

"You'd better take a painting too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered openly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's thirty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied boisterously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of wastebaskets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slunk woefully out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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