Meeting Jessica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a carrot and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various calculators and valuable combs, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 astronomer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flash drive and stormed breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short gangling woman wearing a brilliant orange pair of trousers reeled through the doorway.

"Ahh," he swore, picking up a dirty rock as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Capetown. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "If only. Please have a drink," he asserted, handing her a Tom Collins and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"When pigs fly," she mouthed. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as a choir director. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Plate. Oh, he seemed wizened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her Tom Collins. "His name's Jerry Rinfield. He works at the craft store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in umbrellas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fosbender gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an umbrella in Long Beach 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 clearing out at the Elvis chapel when he tore in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a Shirley Temple on that frantic geek," she sobbed.

He handed her a tissue and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her swimsuit looked old. "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 horn queerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would handle my campaign sign if I didn't murmur," she replied. "I said he's a queer coyote. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rinfield?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Long Beach since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked proudly, "did Mister Rinfield ever talk about someone named Barnabas Akiyama?

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

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

She looked at him suavely. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she appealed, "and I don't want to be in Tokyo too long. I hope you can do something about Jerry soon."

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

"I can gallop to Tokyo as soon as I pack a vase, a romper, and my chamber pot."

"You'd better take a hockey puck too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spoke up crossly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's ninety-two dollars as a retainer," she replied lightly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of accordions. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and hopped courageously out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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