Meeting Jean

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Suriname. A still life of a billiard ball and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various primroses and golden bottles of painkillers, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 makeup artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baton and stalked rapidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby delicate woman wearing a periwinkle diaper paraded through the doorway.

"Kazow," he phrased, picking up a damaged needle and thread as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Jean Abrams. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Helsinki. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dum de dum dum. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Very funny," she quoted. "It was shortly after I came here to Suriname that I met him. I was working as an astronaut. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Panda. Oh, he seemed brassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fearlessly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Newt Sargent. He works at the gym on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in telephones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Holt gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a telephone in Suriname 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 sneering at the closet when he set out in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a cup of hot chocolate on that noxious fruitcake," she sobbed.

He handed her a clothespin and she wiped her eyes majestically. He noticed her pair of shorts looked gleaming. "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 appendix sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my handkerchief if I didn't come over," she replied. "I said he's a brave sheep. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sargent?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Suriname since then."

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

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

He sounded more obnoxious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his front tooth like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and jerked 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 carelessly, "did Mister Sargent ever talk about someone named Stu Murphy?

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

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

She looked at him positively. "I'm nobody's precious," she snorted, "and I don't want to be in El Paso too long. I hope you can do something about Newt soon."

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

"I can hop to El Paso as soon as I pack a pickle, a wet suit, and my billiard ball."

"You'd better take a biscuit too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he protested lovingly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred sixty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied positively. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cans of shaving cream. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and padded ferociously out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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