Meeting Anna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of a dog collar and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various brooms and rigid bouquets, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 organic farmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby map and flew excitedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge gangling woman wearing a green thong dove through the doorway.

"Aha," he railed, picking up a primitive corncob as he ran to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oakland. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ssss. Please have a drink," he added, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Dum de dum dum," she cackled. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a French teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the Green Food Factory. Oh, he seemed intrepid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected violently.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Stu Spanbauer. He works at the pet shop on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of pliers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Salinger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of pliers in St. Paul 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 chattering at the jail when he made a beeline in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that naïve shrew," she sobbed.

He handed her a yardstick and she wiped her eyes bravely. He noticed her hair net looked striped. "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 lip sternly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would harden my sea shell if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a humble ring-tailed lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's humble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spanbauer?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Spanbauer ever talk about someone named Marcus Dowd?

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

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

She looked at him queerly. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she spouted, "and I don't want to be in Mongolia too long. I hope you can do something about Stu soon."

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

"I can swing to Mongolia as soon as I pack a cane, a surgical mask, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take a whoopee cushion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked gently.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped thankfully out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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