Meeting Francene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the Maldives. A still life of a cookie and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various daisies and striking calculators, relics of his days in France. 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 plumber, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and careened gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget plump woman wearing a pea green headscarf dove through the doorway.

"Bravo," he sputtered, picking up a torn bottle as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began reluctantly. "My name is Francene Metzger. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lively. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Little Big Horn. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By Jove. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Unreal," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to the Maldives that I met him. I was working as a model. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Panda. Oh, he seemed bad enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Dustin Alden. He works at the restaurant on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dollar bills."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Champion gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dollar bill in the Maldives 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 waiting at the poetry reading when he climbed in and started to snicker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punish that stinky halfwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a pearl and she wiped her eyes vigorously. He noticed her bicycle helmet 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 chest ferociously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shave my screwdriver if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a polite bull. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's polite.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Alden?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the Maldives 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 Dustin Alden is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more awkward than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his esophagus like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and threw up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like road kill since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked boldly, "did Mister Alden ever talk about someone named Francisco Nye?

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

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

She looked at him sagely. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she murmured, "and I don't want to be in Jersey City too long. I hope you can do something about Dustin soon."

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

"I can jump to Jersey City as soon as I pack an elephant tusk, a vest, and my bowling ball."

"You'd better take a hacksaw too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exploded admiringly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened dolorously out of the office. He stared tenderly after her.

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