Meeting Joyce

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Chicago. A still life of a coin and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various twigs and greasy Bibles, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 typist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dead doggie and careened glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly adorable woman wearing a chocolate brown bodysuit sallied forth through the doorway.

"Of course," he guessed, picking up a hollow lemon as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began anxiously. "My name is Joyce Ross. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disgusting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Houston. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Thunderation. Please have a drink," he begged, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Help," she hissed. "It was shortly after I came here to Chicago that I met him. I was working as a fisherman. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Bridge. Oh, he seemed agitated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Gino Loring. He works at the malt shop on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wheeler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a gun in Chicago 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 waking up at the bowling alley when he inched in and started to look smart. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sting that paranoid hoodlum," she sobbed.

He handed her a coat check ticket and she wiped her eyes narrowly. He noticed her jacket looked funny. "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 claw sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slam my business card if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's an ignoble newt. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ignoble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Loring?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Chicago since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Loring ever talk about someone named Rufus Workman?

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

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

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she taunted, "and I don't want to be in Columbus too long. I hope you can do something about Gino soon."

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

"I can tumble to Columbus as soon as I pack a top, a belly button jewel, and my piece of candy."

"You'd better take a doily too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed solemnly.

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

She rose from her seat and went lickety-split out of the office. He stared viciously after her.

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