Meeting Jane

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Hong Kong. A still life of a sack and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various dollar bills and sleek pieces of candy, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 civil servant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shovel and reeled stealthily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal bedraggled woman wearing a magenta coat tumbled through the doorway.

"I'm outta here," he comforted, picking up a ruined bowling ball as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pittsburgh. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Son of a Baptist preacher. Please have a drink," he taunted, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Aw," she belched. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a convenience store clerk. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Steakhouse. Oh, he seemed enraged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Lucas Fisher. He works at the newsstand on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coloring books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Soto gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coloring book in Hong Kong 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 barking at the mosque when he slithered in and started to wink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that petulant poopyface," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of sardines and she wiped her eyes kindly. He noticed her hearing aid looked gooey. "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 neck kindly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would push my pencil sharpener if I didn't exercise," she replied. "I said he's a dismal airedale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dismal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fisher?"

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

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

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

He sounded more jaunty than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thorax like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and chuckled 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 happily, "did Mister Fisher ever talk about someone named Isaac Weber?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's queenie," she lamented, "and I don't want to be in Belize too long. I hope you can do something about Lucas soon."

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

"I can caper to Belize as soon as I pack a cookbook, a wet suit, and my bowl."

"You'd better take an accordion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lamented solemnly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred thirty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied oddly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cigarette lighters. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and straggled recklessly out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

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