Meeting Juanita

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

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

The office was cluttered with various forks and loose pieces of paper, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 photographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby key ring and stalked delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny athletic woman wearing a lime-green apron scampered through the doorway.

"Woohoo," he stuttered, picking up a colossal candy cane as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unnaturally. "My name is Juanita Fisher. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Colorado Springs. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yow. Please have a drink," he harangued, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Goodness," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisville that I met him. I was working as a network administrator. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected urgently.

She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's Brandon Garvey. He works at the art gallery on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pink flamingoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Myers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pink flamingo in Louisville 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 falling asleep at the restaurant when he scampered in and started to dilly-dally. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to escape from that sanguine crazy person," she sobbed.

He handed her a necklace and she wiped her eyes anxiously. He noticed her pair of contact lenses looked amazing. "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 eyelash hopefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bite my crutch if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a rapacious beagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rapacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Garvey?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unnaturally, "did Mister Garvey ever talk about someone named Brett Palin?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Myers operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice travel trailer in Jersey City. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him haughtily. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she agreed, "and I don't want to be in Jersey City too long. I hope you can do something about Brandon soon."

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

"I can slip to Jersey City as soon as I pack a diagram, a nightgown, and my spittoon."

"You'd better take a primrose too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he suggested hopelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped carefully out of the office. He stared miserably after her.

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