Meeting Julia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of a key and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various boomerangs and slimy pink flamingoes, relics of his days in Laos. 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 draftsman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and rushed suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely thin woman wearing a brilliant orange pair of pajamas straggled through the doorway.

"Uh-oh," he spouted, picking up a grubby fishing pole as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began openly. "My name is Julia Gare. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dependable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Philadelphia. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Feh. Please have a drink," he ranted, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Nope," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as an auctioneer. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Forest. Oh, he seemed obese enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Montague Spence. He works at the pub on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird baths."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Escobar gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird bath in Bolivia 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 bleeding at the tanning salon when he dashed in and started to look angry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to please that adorable hellhound," she sobbed.

He handed her a bullet and she wiped her eyes sadly. He noticed her leotard looked brittle. "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 brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refine my washrag if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal flamingo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Spence?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked brightly, "did Mister Spence ever talk about someone named Lucky Schaffer?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's punkin," she howled, "and I don't want to be in Mexico City too long. I hope you can do something about Montague soon."

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

"I can wade to Mexico City as soon as I pack a muffin, an Armani suit, and my fishhook."

"You'd better take a hockey puck too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched innocently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred twenty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied grandly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ingots of plutonium. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and blundered threateningly out of the office. He stared despondently after her.

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