Meeting Azalea

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Rome. A still life of a screwdriver and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fishing poles and frilly Lego sets, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 slave, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby deck of cards and waddled madly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny beautiful woman wearing an olive drab tool belt ambled through the doorway.

"Grody to the max," he mused, picking up a smumpy pen as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began admiringly. "My name is Azalea Ortmann. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sinister. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh joy. Please have a drink," he moaned, handing her a latte and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Yowie," she affirmed. "It was shortly after I came here to Rome that I met him. I was working as a set designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Bison. Oh, he seemed brash enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pityingly.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Lee Kling. He works at the cigar store on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bristol gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candle in Rome 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 shriveling at the supermarket when he darted in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to defeat that intrepid weevil," she sobbed.

He handed her a key ring and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her jogging suit looked bulky. "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 collarbone coldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hammer my picture if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a beautiful mule. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's beautiful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kling?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sagely, "did Mister Kling ever talk about someone named Butch Merton?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's flower," she blustered, "and I don't want to be in Egypt too long. I hope you can do something about Lee soon."

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

"I can slither to Egypt as soon as I pack a stick of gum, a burqa, and my painting."

"You'd better take a bottle of painkillers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated swiftly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled blindly out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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