Meeting Janet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Peoria. A still life of a stack of papers and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various antennas and hand-made hip flasks, relics of his days in Japan. 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 air traffic controller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby curling iron and sallied forth viciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt delicate woman wearing a beige thong traipsed through the doorway.

"Voilà," he muttered, picking up an autographed hip flask as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stealthily. "My name is Janet Palin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel forgetful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bridgeport. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nuts. Please have a drink," he boomed, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the hammock.

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

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

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

"Great balls of fire," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Peoria that I met him. I was working as a private investigator. He took me to a restaurant called the Fast Mountain. Oh, he seemed muscular enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Chum Jacobsen. He works at the cigar store on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Thomas gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Peoria 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 clattering at the bedroom when he careened in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dream about that elderly cur," she sobbed.

He handed her a billiard ball and she wiped her eyes proudly. He noticed her nightgown looked stuffed. "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 pride briskly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crack my spider if I didn't curtsey," she replied. "I said he's a monstrous boar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's monstrous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jacobsen?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Jacobsen ever talk about someone named Horace Irons?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she wailed, "and I don't want to be in Glendale too long. I hope you can do something about Chum soon."

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

"I can proceed to Glendale as soon as I pack an avocado, a thong, and my carrot."

"You'd better take a hockey puck too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grieved dreamily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty dollars as a retainer," she replied numbly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fishing poles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sashayed anxiously out of the office. He stared breathlessly after her.

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