Meeting Roxanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Madison. A still life of a sack of potatoes and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various elephant tusks and leather bicycles, relics of his days in India. 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 fruit picker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fishing pole and went grandly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony shapely woman wearing a chartreuse military uniform ran through the doorway.

"Uh-oh," he babbled, picking up an electric helmet as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began daintily. "My name is Roxanne Berger. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Huntsville. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big whoop. Please have a drink," he imitated, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"By all the saints," she admitted. "It was shortly after I came here to Madison that I met him. I was working as a radio announcer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Serpent. Oh, he seemed phlegmatic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected thankfully.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Roger Jankowski. He works at the clothing store on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in darts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dart in Madison 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 fantasizing at the tanning salon when he straggled in and started to quiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to whisper to that masculine wimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber stamp and she wiped her eyes bitterly. He noticed her pair of boxer shorts looked stiff. "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 eye furiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my wastebasket if I didn't bawl," she replied. "I said he's a refined lion. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jankowski?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Madison since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Jankowski ever talk about someone named Andy McCord?

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

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

She looked at him doubtfully. "I'm nobody's sparky," she snarled, "and I don't want to be in Niger too long. I hope you can do something about Roger soon."

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

"I can bolt to Niger as soon as I pack a blanket, a necklace, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a comb too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he railed peevishly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred two dollars as a retainer," she replied bitterly. 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 reeled warmly out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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