Meeting Joan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Tijuana. A still life of a cookie and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various computers and fabulous teapots, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 cigarette salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coupon and traipsed softly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic filthy woman wearing a yellow party hat stormed through the doorway.

"Whoa baby," he realized, picking up a hand-painted nail as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began valiantly. "My name is Joan Hopper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disorganized. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ugh. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"That's crazy talk," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Tijuana that I met him. I was working as a plumber. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Temple. Oh, he seemed relaxed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Calvin Pence. He works at the barbershop on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toolboxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Johnson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toolbox in Tijuana 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 falling asleep at the garden when he tramped in and started to fantasize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frown at that bilious stumblebum," she sobbed.

He handed her a pen and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her birthday suit looked crisp. "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 femur softly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strike my backpack if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery dromedary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pence?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Tijuana since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked energetically, "did Mister Pence ever talk about someone named Antonio Crawford?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she inquired, "and I don't want to be in Alexandria too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can zoom to Alexandria as soon as I pack a pencil sharpener, a dunce cap, and my cookie."

"You'd better take a pencil sharpener too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he urged immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and trotted busily out of the office. He stared innocently after her.

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