Meeting Alberta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Brazil. A still life of a box of Kleenex and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various snails and immense sponges, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 bricklayer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coconut and tiptoed patiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge graceful woman wearing a blue pair of Groucho glasses slithered through the doorway.

"Wowsers," he expressed, picking up a fluffy rubber chicken as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nonchalantly. "My name is Alberta Wozniak. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whiz. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"Fun," she professed. "It was shortly after I came here to Brazil that I met him. I was working as a bookkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Castle. Oh, he seemed cute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected energetically.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Allan Benishek. He works at the antique store on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blank checks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Matthews gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blank check in Brazil 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 yelping at the movie theater when he breezed in and started to weep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to yell at that ambitious reptile," she sobbed.

He handed her a snail and she wiped her eyes again. He noticed her moustache looked torn. "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 liver cautiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strengthen my camera if I didn't hiccup," she replied. "I said he's an adorable antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's adorable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Benishek?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Benishek ever talk about someone named Shamus Stringer?

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

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

She looked at him shyly. "I'm nobody's noodle," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Allan soon."

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

"I can trek to Antarctica as soon as I pack a rubber chicken, a feather boa, and my Barbie doll."

"You'd better take a bird bath too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he noted wildly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred fifty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied caustically. I also have an extremely valuable collection of vases. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled boisterously out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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