Meeting Alison

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Oslo. A still life of a banjo and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cameras and cheap pencils, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 private investigator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toolbox and walked peevishly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby sorrowful woman wearing a maroon corsage crept through the doorway.

"Crackers," he tittered, picking up a ridged horseshoe as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began oddly. "My name is Alison Countryman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dismal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh dear. Please have a drink," he railed, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Yo ho ho," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Oslo that I met him. I was working as a bullfighter. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Temple. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected flightily.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Rock Nussbaum. He works at the office supply store on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feather dusters."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prater gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather duster in Oslo 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 daydreaming at the restaurant when he scampered in and started to burble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to snuggle with that arrogant clodhopper," she sobbed.

He handed her a water bottle and she wiped her eyes delicately. He noticed her pair of Crocs looked ridiculous. "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 shin obediently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would compress my cracker if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's an enchanting porcupine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enchanting.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nussbaum?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Oslo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked neatly, "did Mister Nussbaum ever talk about someone named John Salazar?

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

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

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

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

"I can traipse to Warsaw as soon as I pack a knitting needle, a bonnet, and my saw."

"You'd better take a beach ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he begged quickly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty dollars as a retainer," she replied nonchalantly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of playing cards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and bounded confidently out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

Next Chapter