Meeting Michelle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Wisconsin. A still life of a piece of chalk and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various corks and flaky church keys, relics of his days in Iran. 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 pediatrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and marched anxiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky frizzle-headed woman wearing an olive green winter coat galumphed through the doorway.

"Indeed," he questioned, picking up a narrow hacksaw as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began timidly. "My name is Michelle Hanson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel peculiar. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Eugene. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Poof. Please have a drink," he barked, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Aaah," she sneered. "It was shortly after I came here to Wisconsin that I met him. I was working as a slave. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Counter. Oh, he seemed poised enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fiercely.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Michaelangelo Glidden. He works at the ice cream parlor on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pearls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Madison gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pearl in Wisconsin 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 bawling at the wine tasting when he galumphed in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to expose that heavyset rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber stamp and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her pair of toe shoes looked old. "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 belly button brightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hurl my flower if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's an enchanting gopher. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enchanting.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Glidden?"

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

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

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

He sounded more gallant than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his spleen 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 locker room since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister Glidden ever talk about someone named Lonnie Brunken?

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

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

She looked at him shyly. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she emphasized, "and I don't want to be in a ghetto too long. I hope you can do something about Michaelangelo soon."

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

"I can walk to a ghetto as soon as I pack an oriental vase, a denim skirt, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take an iPad too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he noted jokingly.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed tenderly out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

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