Meeting Josephine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in New Zealand. A still life of a clam and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dog biscuits and imported bags of potato chips, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 street musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPhone and pranced accidentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth grubby woman wearing a burgundy bikini ambled through the doorway.

"Barf," he stammered, picking up a greasy spinning wheel as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tenderly. "My name is Josephine O'Connor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sassy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Panama City. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zounds. Please have a drink," he articulated, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Can you dig it?," she quavered. "It was shortly after I came here to New Zealand that I met him. I was working as an optometrist. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Food Truck. Oh, he seemed brassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Dustin Piper. He works at the pizza joint on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sims gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a gun in New Zealand 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 dilly-dallying at the day care center when he flounced in and started to come to. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ridicule that carefree bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes peevishly. He noticed her bustier looked cardboard. "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 appendix curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bathe my toilet plunger if I didn't expectorate," she replied. "I said he's a spindly mole. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spindly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Piper?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked despondently, "did Mister Piper ever talk about someone named Franklin Jacobsen?

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

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

She looked at him fearfully. "I'm nobody's buddy," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Istanbul too long. I hope you can do something about Dustin soon."

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

"I can amble to Istanbul as soon as I pack a houseplant, a bandana, and my African violet."

"You'd better take a saw too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed energetically.

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

She rose from her seat and inched merrily out of the office. He stared delicately after her.

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