Meeting Jessica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in California. A still life of a pair of fuzzy dice and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various coconuts and unusual acorns, relics of his days in Laos. 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 pediatrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corsage and breezed nimbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly little woman wearing a khaki scarf skidded through the doorway.

"Ssss," he commented, picking up an original spider as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in New Orleans. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Of course. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Boo," she cackled. "It was shortly after I came here to California that I met him. I was working as a jeweler. He took me to a restaurant called Western Spoon. Oh, he seemed sweet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Alf Vigil. He works at the insurance agency on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Griebel gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in California 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 cheering up at the wine tasting when he whirled in and started to squeal. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that unruffled dingleberry," she sobbed.

He handed her an arrowhead and she wiped her eyes steadily. He noticed her T-shirt looked nice. "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 shoulder zestily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would see my rock if I didn't get upset," she replied. "I said he's a suave dinosaur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vigil?"

"Only a second; I've only been in California since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Vigil ever talk about someone named Irving Kemp?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's snookums," she vowed, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Alf soon."

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

"I can go to Slovenia as soon as I pack a pain pill, a big smile, and my spinning wheel."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he called violently.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted immediately out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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