Meeting Jeanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Comoros. A still life of a paintbrush and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hubcaps and new telephones, relics of his days in Norway. 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 coroner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and danced sagely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight frail woman wearing a periwinkle veil jogged through the doorway.

"Help," he orated, picking up an ordinary abacus as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Jeanne Woolsey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel demented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tokyo. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he nattered, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Why not?," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Comoros that I met him. I was working as a midwife. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed charming enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Jesse Mouse. He works at the pet shop on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Snyder gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mop in Comoros 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 snorting at the carnival when he traipsed in and started to seethe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shun that obese peabrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a fingernail clipper and she wiped her eyes ignobly. He noticed her pair of earmuffs looked loose. "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 beard sagely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would distort my piggy bank if I didn't blank out," she replied. "I said he's a fascinating polecat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fascinating.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mouse?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Comoros since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gently, "did Mister Mouse ever talk about someone named Morris Fields?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Snyder 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 dugout in Seoul. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him truculently. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Jesse soon."

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

"I can galumph to Seoul as soon as I pack a cage, a pair of cycling shorts, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take a clipboard too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shouted warily.

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

She rose from her seat and struggled clumsily out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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