Meeting Ida

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Italy. A still life of a can of beans and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bird baths and original computers, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 actor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby boomerang and darted lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge elderly woman wearing a jet black poodle skirt sprinted through the doorway.

"Oh joy," he stated, picking up an original bugle as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began speedily. "My name is Ida Barrymore. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dark. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbus. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless my hide. Please have a drink," he bragged, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Bowwow," she yelled. "It was shortly after I came here to Italy that I met him. I was working as a horse trainer. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed bizarre enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Reynaldo Tuttle. He works at the tobacco shop on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in lollipops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Weiner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a lollipop in Italy 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 humming at the pet store when he climbed in and started to dance. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to imitate that frumpy 'noying," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes deliberately. He noticed her stethoscope looked cheap. "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 energetically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my cream puff if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's a difficult ant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's difficult.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tuttle?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Italy since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stupidly, "did Mister Tuttle ever talk about someone named Kyle Mallory?

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

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

She looked at him viciously. "I'm nobody's treasure," she fantasized, "and I don't want to be in Alabama too long. I hope you can do something about Reynaldo soon."

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

"I can straggle to Alabama as soon as I pack a muffin, a robe, and my acorn."

"You'd better take a clipboard too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained blissfully.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed crazily out of the office. He stared positively after her.

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