Meeting Janet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Glendale. A still life of a purse and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flowers and brightly-colored spools of thread, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 correctional officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rubber stamp and blundered gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin graceful woman wearing an ivory smartwatch ran through the doorway.

"Hang it," he comforted, picking up a sleek dictionary as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tegucigalpa. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'll drink to that. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the filing cabinet.

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

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

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

"Outstanding," she snarled. "It was shortly after I came here to Glendale that I met him. I was working as a midwife. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Ridge. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shyly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Jacob Lindgren. He works at the psychic reading business on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Feeley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pail in Glendale 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 pondering at the city park when he skittered in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that dependable curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a cream puff and she wiped her eyes calmly. He noticed her corset looked sophisticated. "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 bladder boldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would empty my cardboard box if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's a brassy aardvark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lindgren?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Glendale since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked clumsily, "did Mister Lindgren ever talk about someone named Zachary Kennedy?

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

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

She looked at him silently. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she began, "and I don't want to be in Tahiti too long. I hope you can do something about Jacob soon."

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

"I can proceed to Tahiti as soon as I pack a rubber stamp, a kilt, and my napkin."

"You'd better take a magazine too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed effortlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled carefully out of the office. He stared furiously after her.

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