Meeting Joanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Cape Town. A still life of a bedpan and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Rubik's cubes and striking fishing poles, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 percussionist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby radio and skidded daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short pretty woman wearing a lavender bustier scurried through the doorway.

"Man alive," he phrased, picking up a dusty tennis racket as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel shiftless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Syracuse. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ugh. Please have a drink," he babbled, handing her an iced tea and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Yowie," she announced. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Town that I met him. I was working as a magistrate. He took me to a restaurant called the Green Deli. Oh, he seemed atrocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her iced tea. "His name's Sam Gonzales. He works at the nail salon on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jetson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box in Cape Town 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 cheering up at the jail when he tumbled in and started to yelp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sneer at that mindless weevil," she sobbed.

He handed her a tennis racket and she wiped her eyes shyly. He noticed her hair net looked shiny. "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 toenail quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would uncover my cell phone if I didn't rest," she replied. "I said he's a noxious nightingale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gonzales?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Cape Town since then."

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

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

He sounded more fascinating than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his lung 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 bacon frying since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked dolorously, "did Mister Gonzales ever talk about someone named Lynn Wilder?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she announced, "and I don't want to be in Hawaii too long. I hope you can do something about Sam soon."

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

"I can caper to Hawaii as soon as I pack a vase, a gold medal, and my ashtray."

"You'd better take a whoopee cushion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he piped up patiently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred seventy-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied shyly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cotton balls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and jogged urgently out of the office. He stared properly after her.

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