Meeting Priscilla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Anchorage. A still life of a cell phone and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bedpans and cheap pails, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 Egyptologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hot potato and ran courageously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal dainty woman wearing a pea green tuxedo sprinted through the doorway.

"Amen," he spewed, picking up a delicate flash drive as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strictly. "My name is Priscilla Rexford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Rapids. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thunderation. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Ugh," she breathed. "It was shortly after I came here to Anchorage that I met him. I was working as a tax collector. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Moon. Oh, he seemed sarcastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Buddy McCord. He works at the malt shop on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coat hangers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Veen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coat hanger in Anchorage 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 mumbling at the Seven-Eleven when he strolled in and started to blink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that solitary maniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of knitting needles and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her tarboosh looked original. "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 pinky woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lynch my candle if I didn't shake," she replied. "I said he's a lazy monkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McCord?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Anchorage since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grudgingly, "did Mister McCord ever talk about someone named Brent Halperin?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she boomed, "and I don't want to be in Madison too long. I hope you can do something about Buddy soon."

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

"I can struggle to Madison as soon as I pack a buzz saw, a hoodie, and my notebook."

"You'd better take an artificial flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped deftly.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced sorrowfully out of the office. He stared primly after her.

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