Meeting Fanny

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Alexandria. A still life of a spinning wheel and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bedpans and cheap darts, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 rodeo clown, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cream puff and slunk surreptitiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious tall woman wearing a maroon pair of boxer shorts sashayed through the doorway.

"Ay caramba," he tittered, picking up a gross button as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began accidentally. "My name is Fanny Krivosha. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel talkative. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Boise. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gadzooks and crapadoodle. Please have a drink," he analyzed, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Fie," she uttered. "It was shortly after I came here to Alexandria that I met him. I was working as a disk jockey. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Platter. Oh, he seemed mindless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Wallace Thompson. He works at the travel agency on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in advertisements."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jankowski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an advertisement in Alexandria 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 cringing at the ski resort when he dashed in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shock that exuberant blockhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a key and she wiped her eyes lazily. He noticed her gold medal looked abnormal. "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 hand cheerfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my hubcap if I didn't watch," she replied. "I said he's a quiet anteater. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thompson?"

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

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

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

He sounded more haggard 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 blew up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fresh-baked bread since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tensely, "did Mister Thompson ever talk about someone named Quentin O'Sullivan?

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

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

She looked at him daringly. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she responded, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Wallace soon."

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

"I can blunder to Benin as soon as I pack a paperclip, a pair of earmuffs, and my wrench."

"You'd better take a bucket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he maintained merrily.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled boldly out of the office. He stared warily after her.

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