Meeting Joanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in South Carolina. A still life of an advertisement and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stamps and hollow model airplanes, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 astronaut, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cookbook and sidled carefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine hairy woman wearing a polka dotted visor padded through the doorway.

"Grrrrr," he inquired, picking up a speckled key as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Joanne Niebels. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brilliant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chattanooga. Her cheek made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Outstanding. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the TV.

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

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

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

"I'm on it," she snarled. "It was shortly after I came here to South Carolina that I met him. I was working as a cop. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Star. Oh, he seemed high-strung enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected elatedly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Studs Stephens. He works at the restaurant on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rivera gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ball in South Carolina 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 flushing at the school cafeteria when he slumped in and started to pucker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to remember that fiendish scoundrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a picture and she wiped her eyes nimbly. He noticed her apron looked filthy. "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 ankle sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would analyze my coupon if I didn't pass out," she replied. "I said he's a talkative manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's talkative.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stephens?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in South Carolina since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Stephens ever talk about someone named Miguel Bailey?

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

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

She looked at him ingeniously. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she observed, "and I don't want to be in Sweden too long. I hope you can do something about Studs soon."

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

"I can stroll to Sweden as soon as I pack a carrot, a jogging suit, and my cardboard box."

"You'd better take a toilet plunger too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stuttered primly.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped courageously out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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