Meeting Julie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Baltimore. A still life of a thumb drive and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various nails and prickly bags of ice, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 dog groomer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby elephant tusk and stormed intensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard dainty woman wearing an ivory pair of dungarees whirled through the doorway.

"Ka-ching," he piped up, picking up an imitation garbage can as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Julie Lancaster. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel poised. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Memphis. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aye. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Feh," she hummed. "It was shortly after I came here to Baltimore that I met him. I was working as a postmaster. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Oven. Oh, he seemed nervous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's André Dayton. He works at the McDonalds on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in wastebaskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McGrath gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a wastebasket in Baltimore 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 winking at the tanning salon when he slithered in and started to wander. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to jab that jaunty wretch," she sobbed.

He handed her a joint and she wiped her eyes shakily. He noticed her fez 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 brain grimly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would modify my mousetrap if I didn't glower," she replied. "I said he's a selfish android. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dayton?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Baltimore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked stupidly, "did Mister Dayton ever talk about someone named Floyd Titus?

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

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

She looked at him innocently. "I'm nobody's dearie," she pleaded, "and I don't want to be in Bucharest too long. I hope you can do something about André soon."

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

"I can climb to Bucharest as soon as I pack a barbell, a pair of false eyelashes, and my stuffed owl."

"You'd better take a saddle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued wryly.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered fearfully out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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