Meeting Madelyn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a mirror and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hot potatoes and small hockey pucks, relics of his days in Malta. 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 novelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and slipped sagely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short slick woman wearing a navy blue false moustache stormed through the doorway.

"Can you dig it?," he groveled, picking up a grubby tennis racket as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Madelyn Davis. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel noble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quebec. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy Mother of Petunias. Please have a drink," he orated, handing her a latte and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Crud," she swore. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as a rocket scientist. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Flower. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cheerfully.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Spud Crabtree. He works at the deli on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flutes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Biggs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flute in Long Beach 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 fulminating at the rock concert when he dashed in and started to freak out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fool that demented dodo," she sobbed.

He handed her a flute and she wiped her eyes angrily. He noticed her hat looked crude. "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 eyelid tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would toss my whistle if I didn't moan," she replied. "I said he's a pensive dinosaur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Crabtree?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Long Beach since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked merrily, "did Mister Crabtree ever talk about someone named René Locke?

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

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

She looked at him threateningly. "I'm nobody's nipkin," she whimpered, "and I don't want to be in Rio too long. I hope you can do something about Spud soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can stroll to Rio as soon as I pack a pickle, a maxi skirt, and my egg shell."

"You'd better take a coffee pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shouted noisily.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed zestily out of the office. He stared majestically after her.

Next Chapter