Meeting Jody

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in the Swiss Alps. A still life of a flower and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Bunsen burners and porcelain cell phones, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 auto mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fossil and bounded brashly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin alert woman wearing a polka dotted diaper skidded through the doorway.

"Hurray," he smiled, picking up a ragged comic book as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slyly. "My name is Jody Curie. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enthusiastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oops. Please have a drink," he commented, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"No no no," she jeered. "It was shortly after I came here to the Swiss Alps that I met him. I was working as a fitness trainer. He took me to a restaurant called the Bronze Cafe. Oh, he seemed boring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carelessly.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Hank Bower. He works at the health food store on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corncobs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hartley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corncob in the Swiss Alps 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 clattering at the bookstore when he waddled in and started to grin. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chat with that annoying curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a joint and she wiped her eyes stealthily. He noticed her wizard's hat looked fancy. "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 esophagus nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pound my rag if I didn't vegetate," she replied. "I said he's a suave jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bower?"

"Only a day; I've only been in the Swiss Alps since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Bower ever talk about someone named Pinky Emery?

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

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

She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's doll," she inquired, "and I don't want to be in Manchester too long. I hope you can do something about Hank soon."

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

"I can speed to Manchester as soon as I pack a pair of binoculars, a tunic, and my saddle."

"You'd better take a package too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he railed grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled sympathetically out of the office. He stared gingerly after her.

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