Meeting Judy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Stockton. A still life of a piece of chalk and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various iPhones and polished paintings, relics of his days in Germany. 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 gardener, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spoon and hobbled pityingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender filthy woman wearing an emerald green pair of jeans crept through the doorway.

"Eureka," he chuckled, picking up a soft statue as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warily. "My name is Judy Loring. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Junction. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Darn. Please have a drink," he screamed, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"Really," she provoked. "It was shortly after I came here to Stockton that I met him. I was working as a maid. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Greasy Spoon. Oh, he seemed affable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected thoughtfully.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Dick Washington. He works at the novelty shop on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in acorns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an acorn in Stockton 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 grinning at the pool hall when he slipped in and started to sway. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that desperate bum," she sobbed.

He handed her a crystal ball and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her dachshund costume looked fuzzy. "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 finger glumly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would puncture my rag if I didn't suffer," she replied. "I said he's a cautious ladybug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cautious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Washington?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Stockton since then."

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

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

He sounded more stubborn than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his vein like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and got rigid 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 vacantly, "did Mister Washington ever talk about someone named Kim Grant?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she pleaded, "and I don't want to be in Croatia too long. I hope you can do something about Dick soon."

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

"I can lope to Croatia as soon as I pack a notepad, a dog collar, and my cowbell."

"You'd better take an etching too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he professed sleepily.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed coolly out of the office. He stared grimly after her.

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