Meeting Jessica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a notepad and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various notebooks and fuzzy coffee pots, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 investment banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby comic book and sauntered temperamentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin dinky woman wearing a black black belt galumphed through the doorway.

"Can it," he quavered, picking up a bent microscope as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Jessica Zhu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rapacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chandler. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hello. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Thanks for nothing," she chattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a grocer. He took me to a restaurant called China House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed brilliant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nervously.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Salvatore Cadwallader. He works at the health food store on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pink flamingoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Krivosha gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pink flamingo in Scottsdale 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 hiding at the beach when he padded in and started to throw up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that adorable dingbat," she sobbed.

He handed her a cowbell and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her midi skirt looked hideous. "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 pituitary gland lightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stain my microphone if I didn't sleep," she replied. "I said he's a serious jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's serious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cadwallader?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked warmly, "did Mister Cadwallader ever talk about someone named Manny Carter?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's honey," she asserted, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Salvatore soon."

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

"I can speed to Peoria as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a bandana, and my bedpan."

"You'd better take a fish too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped lamely.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed pityingly out of the office. He stared coldly after her.

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