Meeting Juanita

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

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

The office was cluttered with various tickets and multicolored books, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 race car driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby advertisement and zipped cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied adorable woman wearing a jet black tie scurried through the doorway.

"Sure," he simpered, picking up an abnormal pepper grinder as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cautiously. "My name is Juanita O'Sullivan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Winston-Salem. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big whoop. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a hot buttered rum and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Scurvy dog," she reacted. "It was shortly after I came here to Ohio that I met him. I was working as a cobbler. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful In and Out. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her hot buttered rum. "His name's Andrew Mainz. He works at the nail salon on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in baseballs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Magnusson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a baseball in Ohio 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 looking puzzled at the bookstore when he slunk in and started to crouch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stun that bellicose wretch," she sobbed.

He handed her a duffel bag and she wiped her eyes violently. He noticed her bustier looked bizarre. "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 liver carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blacken my broom if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's an affable shrew. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's affable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mainz?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked recklessly, "did Mister Mainz ever talk about someone named Alexander Springer?

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

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

She looked at him shakily. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she pointed out, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Andrew soon."

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

"I can roll to Andorra as soon as I pack a cell phone, a bedsheet, and my hat."

"You'd better take a paintbrush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he tittered sternly.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped sorrowfully out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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