Meeting Zoe

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Pennsylvania. A still life of a tissue and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various joints and gleaming floppy disks, relics of his days in Armenia. 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 locksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird feeder and skidded suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy dainty woman wearing a white pair of contact lenses scurried through the doorway.

"Gadzooks and crapadoodle," he chimed, picking up a flexible gun as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gently. "My name is Zoe Barker. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel amiable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her scalp made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shucks. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"If only," she cried. "It was shortly after I came here to Pennsylvania that I met him. I was working as a math teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the New Peacock. Oh, he seemed noble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected victoriously.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Knuckles Jordan. He works at the fortune teller shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bananas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wyse gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a banana in Pennsylvania 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 sleepy at the school cafeteria when he struggled in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to oppose that maniacal weasel," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber stamp and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her tam o'shanter looked papery. "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 shin hopelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would taste my barbell if I didn't frown," she replied. "I said he's a creepy robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's creepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jordan?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Pennsylvania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked admiringly, "did Mister Jordan ever talk about someone named Lex Austin?

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

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

She looked at him wildly. "I'm nobody's tinky-wink," she scoffed, "and I don't want to be in Katmandu too long. I hope you can do something about Knuckles soon."

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

"I can careen to Katmandu as soon as I pack a fishing rod, a pocket watch, and my pen."

"You'd better take a notebook too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he begged jokingly.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed lazily out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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