Meeting Janet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Nauru. A still life of a church key and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clocks and charming bags, relics of his days in Greece. 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 rocket scientist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby skull and bounced tensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small dapper woman wearing a violet robe hobbled through the doorway.

"Kazow," he explained, picking up an old garbage can as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sourly. "My name is Janet Gross. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disagreeable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Moo. Please have a drink," he cackled, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Whew," she demanded. "It was shortly after I came here to Nauru that I met him. I was working as a window washer. He took me to a restaurant called the City Castle. Oh, he seemed rugged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Rock Aguilar. He works at the novelty shop on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Band-aids."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Panzer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Band-aid in Nauru 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 coughing at the church when he lumbered in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that careful creep," she sobbed.

He handed her an orange and she wiped her eyes offhandedly. He noticed her bowler hat looked peculiar. "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 gut woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expand my cream puff if I didn't kneel," she replied. "I said he's a boring antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's boring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Aguilar?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Nauru since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Aguilar ever talk about someone named Russ Magnusson?

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

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

She looked at him gently. "I'm nobody's twinkles," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in France too long. I hope you can do something about Rock soon."

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

"I can set out to France as soon as I pack a torque wrench, a heavy layer of makeup, and my sack of potatoes."

"You'd better take a piece of chalk too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wailed stealthily.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled cheerfully out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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