Meeting Ida

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Topeka. A still life of a rag and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various china dolls and porcelain spinning wheels, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 prisoner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and loped diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe beautiful woman wearing a yellow midi skirt strode through the doorway.

"Gee whillikers," he groaned, picking up an electric crate as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began numbly. "My name is Ida Broderick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel melancholic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her throat made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yes. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

"This is difficult for me," she pronounced, glancing at the pair of bell-bottoms he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"I'm so sure," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Topeka that I met him. I was working as a locksmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed dark enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolorously.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Anthony Welles. He works at the coffee shop on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of candy."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Panzer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of candy in Topeka 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 rolling at the swimming pool when he blundered in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to please that furry ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a toothbrush and she wiped her eyes anxiously. He noticed her pair of boxer shorts 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 intestine dreamily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my rose if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's a loving falcon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Welles?"

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

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

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

He sounded more excitable than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his shoulder like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and belched 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 cheerfully, "did Mister Welles ever talk about someone named Robin Watts?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Panzer 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 resort in Belarus. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him strangely. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she screeched, "and I don't want to be in Belarus too long. I hope you can do something about Anthony soon."

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

"I can lope to Belarus as soon as I pack a hip flask, a sport coat, and my magnifying glass."

"You'd better take a rag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped furiously.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled strangely out of the office. He stared strictly after her.

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