Meeting Jordan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Lesotho. A still life of a Hostess Ding Dong and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various soccer balls and rusty candy canes, 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 goldsmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paintbrush and tiptoed suspiciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout small woman wearing a navy blue moustache reeled through the doorway.

"Uh," he mentioned, picking up a crisp paperweight as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began resignedly. "My name is Jordan Quinlan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel annoying. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Prague. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ho ho. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Dag nabbit," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as a stunt performer. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Chef. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Eduardo Ashe. He works at the ice cream parlor on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Thor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Lesotho 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 dithering at the poetry reading when he sailed in and started to flush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that cunning sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her a cupcake and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her wet suit looked striking. "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 pancreas humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lose my egg shell if I didn't shiver," she replied. "I said he's a wary frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ashe?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Lesotho since then."

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

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

He sounded more heavyset than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his adrenal gland like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and twitched for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like freshly cut grass since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked frenetically, "did Mister Ashe ever talk about someone named Manfred Gross?

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

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

She looked at him sadly. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she spewed, "and I don't want to be in Kalamazoo too long. I hope you can do something about Eduardo soon."

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

"I can bolt to Kalamazoo as soon as I pack a barbell, a shawl, and my bat."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped roughly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred ninety-six dollars as a retainer," she replied furiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pairs of knitting needles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and padded dubiously out of the office. He stared happily after her.

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