Meeting Jennessa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in the Congo. A still life of a water bottle and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pigeons and wet hammers, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 inventor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and zoomed strangely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth olive woman wearing a sea green baseball cap swaggered through the doorway.

"Ssss," he blurted, picking up a golden egg shell as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began delicately. "My name is Jennessa Palensky. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel clever. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Palmdale. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dang it. Please have a drink," he guessed, handing her a cup of bouillon and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Gotta love it," she rebutted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Congo that I met him. I was working as a rubbish collector. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Home. Oh, he seemed absent-minded enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected breathlessly.

She stared into her cup of bouillon. "His name's Armand Dayton. He works at the pet shop on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calculators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frizzlewump gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calculator in the Congo 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 getting upset at the bagel shop when he rolled in and started to peep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that sinister dimwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a Happy Meal and she wiped her eyes sarcastically. He noticed her bow tie looked small. "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 appendix sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grind my Kindle if I didn't inhale," she replied. "I said he's a miniscule goose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's miniscule.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dayton?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked primly, "did Mister Dayton ever talk about someone named Joel Grundy?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's sparky," she spouted, "and I don't want to be in Green Bay too long. I hope you can do something about Armand soon."

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

"I can tumble to Green Bay as soon as I pack a Helmholz resonator, a pair of Oxfords, and my teapot."

"You'd better take a pizza too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored primly.

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

She rose from her seat and danced greedily out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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