Meeting Julieann

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Upper Mongolia. A still life of a piece of paper and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various smart phones and smumpy pearls, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 home executive, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flowerpot and trekked softly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky hairy woman wearing a turquoise body shirt flew through the doorway.

"Eek," he observed, picking up a fresh ping-pong paddle as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Julieann Xing. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sapporo. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My gosh. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Mommy," she mumbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Upper Mongolia that I met him. I was working as a welder. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Sky. Oh, he seemed earnest enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected despondently.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Wes Flash. He works at the clothing store on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cupcakes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brown gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cupcake in Upper Mongolia 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 blinking at the mall when he loped in and started to doodle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disparage that agile airhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a mirror and she wiped her eyes nonchalantly. He noticed her bomber jacket looked slimy. "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 antenna happily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hack my ironing board if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's a deadly mole. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's deadly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flash?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Upper Mongolia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glibly, "did Mister Flash ever talk about someone named Mark Blanco?

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

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

She looked at him impatiently. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she nattered, "and I don't want to be in Monaco too long. I hope you can do something about Wes soon."

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

"I can bolt to Monaco as soon as I pack a coconut, a beach towel, and my cookie."

"You'd better take an arrowhead too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred menacingly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened grandly out of the office. He stared properly after her.

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