The neons were pulsating through the damp night as I stood before the picture window. The on-flash coated the streets below with a spit shine, and the office behind me with a milky dose of surrealism. On the off-flash, I couldn't face my reflection no matter how snappy I thought I looked in my Homburg. I had already smoked gallons, thinking of ways to spend the money.

Then, she burst into the office. At first, I wondered if she was on the level as she breathlessly locked the door and dropped its blinds. When she faced me, the haze of smoke became a heavenly cloud, and I caught my first glimpse of an angel.

She was what dream stuff was made of. She was wearing one of those slim, Chinese numbers with a small, veiled hat that nobody wore any more. Her eyes, big, brown, and beautiful lured me under the net with them. Whenever a dame got me to thinking about the maybes in life, she meant trouble.

"Are you the man whose n..name is on the door?"

I eyed her through a fresh puff of smoke, and snapped my lighter shut. Naivete and an overbite that was shoving me to the brink of decency! I couldn't believe it. But I had a job to do.

"That's right, Sister. Tony Madsen, P.I. And you are...?"

"I'm Angela Summers."

"Would you like a seat?"

"Yes, thank you. Oh, please. No lights. I don't want anyone to know this is where I've come."

"Who?"

"I think I was followed."

"So what do you want from me?"

"I've just arrived in town. I didn't know where else to turn."

"Steady, Angel. Suppose you tell me when you noticed you were being followed."

"I don't know, exactly."

"Then, start at the beginning. And don't leave anything out."

I'd seen enough actresses in my day to know that she wasn't auditioning for a part. Whatever it was that she saw, it upset her to the point of trusting the wrong people. This wasn't going to be easy for me.

As I let her talk, I found out that she was a country bumpkin visiting the big city because she won some idiot contest. That explained her naivete and trusting nature, but not why she was so frightened.

"I was the last one off the plane. I wanted to avoid the rush. I felt so overwhelmed, so... alone on the top step of that little ladder they roll up. I seemed to be looking at the whole world.

"A number of large, black cars were parked nearby with their drivers waiting. One pair must not have seen each other for a long time, because they embraced when they greeted." Her gentle smile recalled the memory. "When I reached the bottom of that ladder, I heard a car or truck backfire. That frightened me, because we don't hear those things in Smalltown, Texas.

"I looked around for the people who were to come for me. You know, the people from the contest. We must have missed each other some how. That's when I noticed a... man. I saw him again when I picked up my bag. He had such cruel eyes."

There was a slight tremor in the room with her as the epicenter. She gulped down her next words like horse pills.

"Steady, Angel. You're safe, now. How about some water?" Without waiting for an answer, I moved to the sink for a clean glass. To give an angel a dirty one seemed almost sacrilegious.

She lifted the veil just high enough to put the glass to her lips. The action of her throat as she swallowed was mesmerizing. The world I had built for myself was a sorry place if my stony heart turns to bubble gum at the sight of a throat. When she finished, she leaned back into the shadows of the chair.

"Tell me what you did, then, Angel."

"I knew what hotel I was staying at so I hailed a taxi. I started to go there, but that... that man got into a taxi behind me. I told the driver that there was someone following me. He did some fancy driving, and said he lost him. In the back of the taxi, I saw your ad, and decided to come here. I... I didn't know what else to do."

"So, what would you like for me to do, Angel?"

"I thought, maybe if you could be my... if you could accompany me... Just until I can get a flight back home."

"You married?"

"No." Her voice held a note of confusion.

"With what you're asking, we'd have to have dinner together tonight and probably tomorrow night. Maybe even do a little dancing. I don't want no jealous husband seeping out of the woodwork spoiling things. Besides, we can't have your first trip to the big city ruined by a silly country-girl fear."

"I.. is that all you think it is?" The tears falling to her cheeks turned to outsized rubies and emeralds at alternate neon flashings.

"No, I think it's a red-blooded, American male following a pretty girl. But you can't be too careful, Angel." I stomped out my cigarette. "Where are you staying?"

"The Hotel Freedmont."

"Alright, listen carefully. Do exactly as I tell you. Go up to the corner, cross the street, and get a taxi. Talk to no one, understand? If there's someone else in the cab, wait for another. Where's your luggage?"

"In a locker at the airport."

"Give me the key. Tell the driver you're late for a party at the Freedmont, and he's to take the 42nd Street route to your hotel. It'll be hard for you to check in without luggage. When they ask you about it, say that you've expressed it from the airport. Leave your room number in a message for a Mr. Albright. That way, I'll know what room you're in.

"Check in as if nothing's wrong, and wait in your room. I'll be behind you all the way, Angel. If anyone's following you, I'll take care of him. I'll bring your bags, and ring your room to report. Then, we can take it from there. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes. Mr. Madsen, I feel better already." She held out a slim, black-gloved hand, which I seized like a judge on the take. Without another word, she left.

I whirled toward my desk, and dialed the number. I watched her get into a cab just as my call got through.

"Yeah?"

"She saw nothing."

"Sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. That's what you pay me for, isn't it? The only reason she came here was because she knew she picked up the tail. What are you doing using rookies on a job like this? Keep doing that and you won't need me." I hung up.

The evening newspaper blazed its headline to remind me what a heel I was.

"Murder at Airport."

Maybe...

I went for the phone again like a bum who found a dime in his hem line. The smoky haze was clearing. The on-flashes of the neons coated the room with crystal green and red.

"One reservation on your flight to Smalltown, Texas, day after tomorrow. Cash. Name's Anthony Madsen." I put the phone down and lit a fresh, stale cigarette.

"That's right, Angel, you're what dreams are made of."

--No part of this story may be copied without the express permission from the author.