Meeting Alisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Mexico. A still life of a diagram and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of binoculars and curved vacuum cleaners, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 machinist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of knitting needles and slunk cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely smallish woman wearing a hot pink sport coat scooted through the doorway.

"Spiff," he fretted, picking up a fluffy package as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tensely. "My name is Alisa McCord. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Miami. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Of course. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Ahoy," she brought up. "It was shortly after I came here to Mexico that I met him. I was working as a spy. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Clover. Oh, he seemed stern enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suspiciously.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Mason Ratha. He works at the travel agency on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowerpots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frizzlewump gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flowerpot in Mexico 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 waking up at the synagogue when he galloped in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grab that beautiful screwball," she sobbed.

He handed her a paperclip and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her swimsuit looked grubby. "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 funny bone blindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clamp my box of Kleenex if I didn't relax," she replied. "I said he's a rude robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rude.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ratha?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Mexico since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Ratha ever talk about someone named Harvey Popp?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Frizzlewump 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 barracks in Bangalore. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him glibly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she hinted, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can creep to Bangalore as soon as I pack a chamber pot, a G-string, and my telephone."

"You'd better take a magnet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he breathed later.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded lovingly out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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