Meeting Judith

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Santa Fe. A still life of a hair dryer and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various china dolls and authentic umbrellas, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 sign painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clothespin and proceeded noisily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout dainty woman wearing a terra cotta body shirt lurched through the doorway.

"Whew," he boasted, picking up a fresh fossil as he sauntered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strictly. "My name is Judith Baldwin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oakland. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers creepers. Please have a drink," he declared, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"You don't say," she admitted. "It was shortly after I came here to Santa Fe that I met him. I was working as a security guard. He took me to a restaurant called Hillside Castle. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lickety-split.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Jimmie Lee Bradley. He works at the movie theater on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowerpots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Friezbergen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flowerpot in Santa Fe 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 fidgeting at the laundromat when he skipped in and started to cheer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that pert vixen," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookie and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her poodle skirt looked odd. "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 Achilles tendon solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ignore my plaque if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's an irate tiger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's irate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bradley?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Santa Fe since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brashly, "did Mister Bradley ever talk about someone named Arnold Dietrich?

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

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

She looked at him stupidly. "I'm nobody's love," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Canada too long. I hope you can do something about Jimmie Lee soon."

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

"I can storm to Canada as soon as I pack a baseball, a set of football pads, and my orange."

"You'd better take a hat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he swore threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed slyly out of the office. He stared tensely after her.

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