Meeting Matilda

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought courteously. 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 sixth floor of an aging building in Malaysia. A still life of a pencil and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bullets and colossal brooms, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 orchestra conductor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby book and tore primly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby tattooed woman wearing a pink Superman costume swung through the doorway.

"Hmm," he recited, picking up a fabulous pot as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Matilda Bear. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stylish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tempe. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cool beans. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Bah," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Malaysia that I met him. I was working as a bar owner. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Buffet. Oh, he seemed diabolical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quickly.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Don Albrandt. He works at the dry cleaner on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Hostess Ding Dongs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCracken gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Hostess Ding Dong in Malaysia 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 nodding off at the juice shop when he zipped in and started to grow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that ladylike shrimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her set of braces looked synthetic. "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 knuckle admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my feather if I didn't buzz," she replied. "I said he's a petulant parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's petulant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Albrandt?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Albrandt ever talk about someone named Nicholas Lions?

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

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

She looked at him positively. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she shrieked, "and I don't want to be in Delaware too long. I hope you can do something about Don soon."

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

"I can skid to Delaware as soon as I pack an Egyptian mummy, a necktie, and my cookbook."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shuddered crazily.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled dolefully out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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