Meeting Magnolia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Costa Rica. A still life of a football and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various guns and slimy ashtrays, relics of his days in Norway. 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 translator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cork and careened suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall cadaverous woman wearing a tan false moustache trekked through the doorway.

"Spiffy," he lamented, picking up a soft candle as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel decent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Peking. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he fantasized, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Blecch," she bellowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Costa Rica that I met him. I was working as a photographer. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Bliss. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected firmly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Jay Papadopoulos. He works at the ad agency on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oldfather gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bat in Costa Rica 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 dizzy at the synagogue when he reeled in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that gallant dirty rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a garbage can and she wiped her eyes roughly. He noticed her coat looked gruesome. "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 liver impatiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would duplicate my bowling ball if I didn't burble," she replied. "I said he's an artistic spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Papadopoulos?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Costa Rica since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked automatically, "did Mister Papadopoulos ever talk about someone named Bud Knotts?

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

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

She looked at him silently. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she clarified, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Jay soon."

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

"I can hop to Modesto as soon as I pack a handkerchief, a poncho, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a baseball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized jokingly.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded thankfully out of the office. He stared smoothly after her.

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