Meeting Jeanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in the Czech Republic. A still life of a hair dryer and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various mops and ancient cigarettes, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stone and tramped frantically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky homely woman wearing a maroon pair of booties ambled through the doorway.

"Loopers," he groveled, picking up a bent shovel as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Jeanne Olson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enraged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Henderson. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Beshrew me. Please have a drink," he thought, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the fainting couch.

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

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

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

"For heaven's sake," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to the Czech Republic that I met him. I was working as a busboy. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Spoon. Oh, he seemed sarcastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Pete Carter. He works at the souvenir shop on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bicycles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mitchell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bicycle in the Czech Republic 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 dreaming at the K-Mart when he bounced in and started to yell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that articulate animal," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her gold medal looked striped. "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 crossly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would play with my ashtray if I didn't wait," she replied. "I said he's an artistic antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Carter?"

"Only a month; I've only been in the Czech Republic since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slyly, "did Mister Carter ever talk about someone named Lucifer Irons?

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

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

She looked at him quietly. "I'm nobody's sugar," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Berlin too long. I hope you can do something about Pete soon."

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

"I can careen to Berlin as soon as I pack a boomerang, a flour sack, and my basketball."

"You'd better take an umbrella too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped daintily out of the office. He stared frenetically after her.

Next Chapter