Meeting Alissa

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

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

The office was cluttered with various diamonds and fabulous paintings, relics of his days in Peru. 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 bar owner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mop and slid delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth lean woman wearing a yellow surgical mask rushed through the doorway.

"Is that a fact," he sneered, picking up a plastic mop as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began urgently. "My name is Alissa Kaplan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bold. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sydney. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bleep. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a soda and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Hallelujah," she warbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as a physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Lion. Oh, he seemed lively enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Alberto Schneider. He works at the saloon on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pom-poms."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bishop gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pom-pom in Lesotho 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 shaking at the jail when he slunk in and started to clear out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe that loving flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a peach and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her pair of shorts looked narrow. "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 spine again. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would reinforce my chart if I didn't smile," she replied. "I said he's a gentle ant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gentle.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schneider?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Lesotho since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked offhandedly, "did Mister Schneider ever talk about someone named John Gupta?

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

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

She looked at him ferociously. "I'm nobody's heart of hearts," she nattered, "and I don't want to be in Paris too long. I hope you can do something about Alberto soon."

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

"I can whirl to Paris as soon as I pack a pen, a tailcoat, and my dart."

"You'd better take a gun too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declared coolly.

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

She rose from her seat and crept greedily out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

Next Chapter