Meeting Joan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Scottsdale. A still life of a rubber stamp and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various towels and musty orchids, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 student, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby package and struggled recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly white woman wearing a blue bow tie bolted through the doorway.

"Eek," he rationalized, picking up a brightly-colored spinning wheel as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Joan Pence. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sarcastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Abilene. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Anyhow. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Touché," she crooned. "It was shortly after I came here to Scottsdale that I met him. I was working as a butcher. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Diner. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected automatically.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Humphrey Papadopoulos. He works at the gym on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in garbage cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cramer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a garbage can in Scottsdale 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 burbling at the gyro shop when he galumphed in and started to mutter. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call the cops on that quiet fruitcake," she sobbed.

He handed her a telephone and she wiped her eyes woodenly. He noticed her leotard 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 jaw innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hack my coffee pot if I didn't bleed," she replied. "I said he's a brassy dingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Papadopoulos?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Scottsdale since then."

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

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

He sounded more tall than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and came back for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like ammonia since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tearfully, "did Mister Papadopoulos ever talk about someone named Jeremy Brandon?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him fearlessly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she chattered, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Humphrey soon."

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

"I can proceed to Madagascar as soon as I pack a spool of thread, a bandana, and my basket."

"You'd better take a fork too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fantasized lickety-split.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed immediately out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

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