Meeting Jeanette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a coconut and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hammers and hollow coupons, relics of his days in Germany. 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 box of candy and cantered calmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy alert woman wearing a red space suit trekked through the doorway.

"Eww," he roared, picking up a tiny beach ball as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began accidentally. "My name is Jeanette Owen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Peking. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bravo. Please have a drink," he sputtered, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Peachy-keen," she judged. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as a marketing manager. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Flower. Oh, he seemed bilious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected silently.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Wallace Quinlan. He works at the psychic reading business on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stevens gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick in Fort Worth 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 screaming at the K-Mart when he slunk in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to see that contented ignoramous," she sobbed.

He handed her a calculator and she wiped her eyes tearfully. He noticed her skirt looked used. "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 liver daringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lose my hubcap if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a daring ghost. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quinlan?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Fort Worth since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dreamily, "did Mister Quinlan ever talk about someone named Dusty Magnusson?

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

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

She looked at him sagely. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she offered, "and I don't want to be in Bolivia too long. I hope you can do something about Wallace soon."

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

"I can parade to Bolivia as soon as I pack a playing card, a few ruined rags, and my candy bar."

"You'd better take a bottle of perfume too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lamented curiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied wryly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of elephant tusks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sailed gratefully out of the office. He stared suavely after her.

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