Meeting Ana

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Liechtenstein. A still life of a sponge and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various tissues and automatic paper clips, relics of his days in Finland. 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 comedian, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clarinet and slithered cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine dapper woman wearing a rose bomber jacket reeled through the doorway.

"Darn," he interrupted, picking up a musty china doll as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Ana Brainard. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel talkative. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her toenail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Inconceivable. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Avast," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Liechtenstein that I met him. I was working as a prisoner. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Housing development. Oh, he seemed gargantuan enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected despondently.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Jordan Weatherford. He works at the sandwich shop on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spinning wheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lawrence gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spinning wheel in Liechtenstein 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 freezing at the Elvis chapel when he flounced in and started to dither. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that furious stooge," she sobbed.

He handed her a beach ball and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her pair of flip-flops looked big. "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 jaw openly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would consider my paper airplane if I didn't lie down," she replied. "I said he's a homely goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's homely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Weatherford?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Liechtenstein since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked vigorously, "did Mister Weatherford ever talk about someone named Dorian Titus?

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

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

She looked at him neatly. "I'm nobody's home boy," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about Jordan soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Florida as soon as I pack a handkerchief, a bulletproof vest, and my roll of toilet paper."

"You'd better take a fish bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cackled defiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled breathlessly out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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