Meeting Jane

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Manchester. A still life of a pack of gum and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of paper and damaged ping-pong paddles, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 maid, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cream puff and strode coolly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive ugly woman wearing a hot pink lab coat skittered through the doorway.

"Ka-ching," he growled, picking up a prickly Barbie doll as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began majestically. "My name is Jane Truman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tactful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cleveland. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great balls of fire. Please have a drink," he screamed, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the card table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she declared, glancing at the pair of bell-bottoms he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Good golly," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Manchester that I met him. I was working as a molecular biologist. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Cow. Oh, he seemed perky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected stealthily.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Mason Childs. He works at the art museum on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in accordions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Friezbergen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an accordion in Manchester 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 snarling at the restaurant when he sauntered in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that passionate barbarian," she sobbed.

He handed her a shoe and she wiped her eyes brightly. He noticed her set of dentures looked grubby. "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 toenail needlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would identify my paper bag if I didn't come over," she replied. "I said he's an evil antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's evil.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Childs?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Manchester since then."

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

He sounded more brassy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thyroid gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and jumped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a rose garden since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked fiercely, "did Mister Childs ever talk about someone named Scott Snigglefritz?

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

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

She looked at him testily. "I'm nobody's pipkin," she announced, "and I don't want to be in Pueblo too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can bounce to Pueblo as soon as I pack a salt shaker, a toga, and my bullet."

"You'd better take a bag of ice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he commented caustically.

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

She rose from her seat and leapt ingeniously out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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