Meeting Anastasia

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 tubes of toothpaste door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Vatican City. A still life of an orchid and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various guns and polka-dotted contracts, relics of his days in Austria. 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 wine merchant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby candy cane and blundered nimbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight redheaded woman wearing an olive drab Eton jacket ran through the doorway.

"Golly whiz," he imitated, picking up a papery pack of gum as he stalked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began offhandedly. "My name is Anastasia Nash. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel articulate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Springfield. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ssss. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Drop dead," she blustered. "It was shortly after I came here to Vatican City that I met him. I was working as a translator. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing Plate. Oh, he seemed brazen enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected busily.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Seth Armstrong. He works at the saloon on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bagpipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ryan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bagpipe in Vatican City 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 staring into space at the ski resort when he walked in and started to laugh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peek at that statuesque demon," she sobbed.

He handed her a Happy Meal and she wiped her eyes suddenly. He noticed her kilt looked large. "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 thigh quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would load my cell phone if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's an obnoxious iguana. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obnoxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Armstrong?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Vatican City since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked trustingly, "did Mister Armstrong ever talk about someone named Bruno Khatchaturian?

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

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

She looked at him warily. "I'm nobody's petunia," she squawked, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Seth soon."

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

"I can prance to the Philippines as soon as I pack a sponge, a Stetson hat, and my daisy."

"You'd better take an apple too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he scoffed anxiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred seven dollars as a retainer," she replied ruefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of suitcases. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and set out hastily out of the office. He stared coldly after her.

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