Meeting Alexis

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Tehran. A still life of a cracker and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hot potatoes and ridiculous batons, relics of his days in Slovakia. 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 innkeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby urn and inched demurely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated bony woman wearing a khaki pair of bell-bottoms zoomed through the doorway.

"Woof," he realized, picking up a magnificent diagram as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gleefully. "My name is Alexis Espinoza. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel atrocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vancouver. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blah. Please have a drink," he stammered, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Jiminy crickets," she growled. "It was shortly after I came here to Tehran that I met him. I was working as a song writer. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Bell. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sagely.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Morgan Schwarz. He works at the tattoo parlor on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in notepads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oggendorf gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a notepad in Tehran 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 shrugging at the bagel shop when he galloped in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that mean dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a daisy and she wiped her eyes threateningly. He noticed her beard looked gaudy. "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 big toe arrogantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would play with my coat hanger if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a haggard musk-ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's haggard.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schwarz?"

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

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

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

He sounded more ladylike than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and huffed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a stable since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Schwarz ever talk about someone named Devon Shapiro?

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

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

She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm nobody's sugar plum," she emphasized, "and I don't want to be in Aurora too long. I hope you can do something about Morgan soon."

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

"I can tramp to Aurora as soon as I pack a contract, a pair of Oxfords, and my hand puppet."

"You'd better take a napkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began frenetically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred eight dollars as a retainer," she replied openly. 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 breezed slowly out of the office. He stared ruefully after her.

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