Meeting Julia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of an orange and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various muffins and narrow duffel bags, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 judge, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby football and sped urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature tiny woman wearing an indigo pair of dentures marched through the doorway.

"At last," he acknowledged, picking up a mysterious oriental vase as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cuddly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Antonio. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Son of a gun. Please have a drink," he indicated, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Well I'll be," she chimed. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as a tax collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Coffee Shop. Oh, he seemed portly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Royce Montoya. He works at the souvenir shop on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pumpkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ecklund gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pumpkin in the United Kingdom 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 spitting at the rock concert when he careened in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that obedient shyster," she sobbed.

He handed her a pipe and she wiped her eyes courteously. He noticed her pair of handcuffs looked damp. "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 face boldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scrape my contract if I didn't clear out," she replied. "I said he's a merry bandicoot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Montoya?"

"Only a second; I've only been in the United Kingdom since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sleepily, "did Mister Montoya ever talk about someone named Eric Bower?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him grudgingly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she provoked, "and I don't want to be in Lansing too long. I hope you can do something about Royce soon."

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

"I can galumph to Lansing as soon as I pack a pillow, a black belt, and my pail."

"You'd better take a calculator too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shuddered carefully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred twenty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied uneasily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of china dolls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slumped thankfully out of the office. He stared charmingly after her.

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