Meeting Joanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Long Beach. A still life of a basket and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rolls of duct tape and papery paperweights, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 car salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and paraded vacantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic flabby woman wearing a purple big smile sneaked through the doorway.

"Aaack," he belched, picking up an important Barbie doll as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wryly. "My name is Joanie Stetson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel poised. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Easy peasy. Please have a drink," he realized, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Roger," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Long Beach that I met him. I was working as an organist. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Gems. Oh, he seemed drowsy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unabashedly.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Rico Brainard. He works at the grocery store on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in artificial flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shoemaker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an artificial flower 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 preaching at the dance when he proceeded in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to praise that ungainly monkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a shoe and she wiped her eyes flightily. He noticed her necktie looked sophisticated. "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 heart hungrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bathe my Egyptian mummy if I didn't dream," she replied. "I said he's a considerate gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's considerate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brainard?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sourly, "did Mister Brainard ever talk about someone named Alf De Luca?

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

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

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Denver too long. I hope you can do something about Rico soon."

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

"I can storm to Denver as soon as I pack a notepad, a bolo tie, and my mushroom."

"You'd better take a magnifying glass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and ran numbly out of the office. He stared clumsily after her.

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