Meeting Alisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Budapest. A still life of a bag of ice and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various primroses and smumpy baseballs, relics of his days in Japan. 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 news reporter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Lego set and strode slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated brown-eyed woman wearing a metallic red hoop skirt strode through the doorway.

"Roger," he chuckled, picking up a smooth diagram as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Alisa Martinez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obese. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mumbai. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great balls of fire. Please have a drink," he mouthed, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Thanks for nothing," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Budapest that I met him. I was working as a surgeon. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Tiger. Oh, he seemed wizened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carelessly.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Pedro James. He works at the pizza parlor on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ashtrays."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Radcliffe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ashtray in Budapest 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 groaning at the tattoo parlor when he sashayed in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to analyze that cuddly snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper clip and she wiped her eyes tenderly. He noticed her romper looked stolen. "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 chest neatly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kiss my comb if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a disorganized hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disorganized.'"

"How long have you known Mr. James?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Budapest since then."

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

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

He sounded more bouncy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little finger like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did nothing for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like success since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked shakily, "did Mister James ever talk about someone named Sig Giddings?

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

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

She looked at him carefully. "I'm nobody's pumpkin," she emphasized, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Pedro soon."

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

"I can scoot to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a roll of toilet paper, a vest, and my bottle of perfume."

"You'd better take a piece of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed silently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's seventy-two dollars as a retainer," she replied bravely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of china dolls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waded glumly out of the office. He stared slowly after her.

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