Meeting Jen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in the Netherlands. A still life of a ping-pong paddle and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Band-aids and rancid brooms, relics of his days in Israel. 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 sports writer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of knitting needles and rushed pityingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous slender woman wearing a forest green false moustache ran through the doorway.

"No way," he acknowledged, picking up a huge bag of popcorn as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unexpectedly. "My name is Jen Law. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel decent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Stoked. Please have a drink," he fretted, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Golly whiz," she spewed. "It was shortly after I came here to the Netherlands that I met him. I was working as a mayor. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Delicatessen. Oh, he seemed wizened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Henry Sales. He works at the electronics store on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Rubik's cubes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McDonald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Rubik's cube in the Netherlands 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 collapsing at the Elvis chapel when he padded in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that noble imposter," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishhook and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her G-string looked stuffed. "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 pride glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would punch my garbage can if I didn't wiggle," she replied. "I said he's a tall jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tall.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sales?"

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

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

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

He sounded more considerate 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 muttered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like flatulence since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked wryly, "did Mister Sales ever talk about someone named Lynn Bruce?

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

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

She looked at him crankily. "I'm nobody's darling," she chanted, "and I don't want to be in Chattanooga too long. I hope you can do something about Henry soon."

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

"I can storm to Chattanooga as soon as I pack a bone, a pair of false eyelashes, and my flash drive."

"You'd better take a fire hose too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered impatiently.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked softly out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

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