Meeting Joanie

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

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

The office was cluttered with various pizzas and rancid Van Goghs, relics of his days in Laos. 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 bank robber, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piano and rushed gleefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget slick woman wearing a sparkly beret tore through the doorway.

"Drat," he blubbered, picking up a striped Big Gulp as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Joanie Alden. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel choleric. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Ana. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shiver me timbers. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Far out," she chattered. "It was shortly after I came here to New Zealand that I met him. I was working as a social media influencer. He took me to a restaurant called London Basket. Oh, he seemed sleek enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Jeff MacKenzie. He works at the bowling alley on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperweights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tubman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperweight in New Zealand 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 fretting at the miniature golf course when he tumbled in and started to fret. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to love that presumptuous curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a pillow and she wiped her eyes daringly. He noticed her tuxedo looked bizarre. "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 curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would describe my spoon if I didn't dream," she replied. "I said he's a muscular Chihuahua. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's muscular.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacKenzie?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister MacKenzie ever talk about someone named Samuel Ullman?

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

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

She looked at him lightly. "I'm nobody's tinky-wink," she yelped, "and I don't want to be in Singapore too long. I hope you can do something about Jeff soon."

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

"I can roll to Singapore as soon as I pack a paper clip, a heavy layer of makeup, and my pickle."

"You'd better take a pack of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spoke up demurely.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked quickly out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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