Meeting Julie

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

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

The office was cluttered with various bugles and mysterious darts, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 key ring and swung roughly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony pretty woman wearing a magenta bracelet traipsed through the doorway.

"Exaltations," he croaked, picking up a rare muffin as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began confidently. "My name is Julie Klein. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vacuous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Houston. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "In your dreams. Please have a drink," he mentioned, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Loopers," she intoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Algiers that I met him. I was working as a mathematician. He took me to a restaurant called Egyptian Magic. Oh, he seemed dark enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Garth Rexford. He works at the flower shop on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in china dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wright gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a china doll in Algiers 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 glaring at the Seven-Eleven when he skidded in and started to wiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ostracize that passionate idjit," she sobbed.

He handed her a stopwatch and she wiped her eyes warily. He noticed her space suit looked ridged. "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 vein coolly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would brandish my pencil if I didn't sigh," she replied. "I said he's a queer panda. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rexford?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked openly, "did Mister Rexford ever talk about someone named Rick Prang?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Wright operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, little cherry blossom, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cardboard box in St. Paul. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him breathlessly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she observed, "and I don't want to be in St. Paul too long. I hope you can do something about Garth soon."

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

"I can dash to St. Paul as soon as I pack a pair of knitting needles, a locket, and my Happy Meal."

"You'd better take a pencil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored clumsily.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted bravely out of the office. He stared gingerly after her.

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