Meeting Jennifer

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Ontario. A still life of a peach and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various baskets and rancid ashtrays, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 busboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vacuum cleaner and whirled accidentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget dashing woman wearing a magenta negligee clambered through the doorway.

"Great Caesar's ghost," he explained, picking up a synthetic Frisbee as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lamely. "My name is Jennifer Burt. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel angry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Charleston. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Marvelous. Please have a drink," he reminded, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

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

"Holy smokeroo," she sniveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Ontario that I met him. I was working as a typing teacher. He took me to a restaurant called the White Bridge. Oh, he seemed fiendish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected accidentally.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Fritz Allen. He works at the perfumery on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fingernail clippers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nix gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fingernail clipper in Ontario 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 calming down at the bedroom when he marched in and started to stare. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to giggle at that intrepid clod," she sobbed.

He handed her a ping-pong paddle and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her false moustache looked stiff. "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 belly button tearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my ruler if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a spindly manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spindly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Allen?"

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

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

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

He sounded more anemic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his paw 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 pineapple since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked firmly, "did Mister Allen ever talk about someone named Charlie Gardner?

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

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

She looked at him grandly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Egypt too long. I hope you can do something about Fritz soon."

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

"I can careen to Egypt as soon as I pack a piano, a big grin, and my paper airplane."

"You'd better take a peach too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shouted speedily.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced trustingly out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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