Meeting Josephine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Wisconsin. A still life of a rubber chicken and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various magazines and ornate whoopee cushions, relics of his days in Korea. 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 biologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby gun and slithered woefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin attractive woman wearing a carrot-orange visor slid through the doorway.

"Loopers," he voiced, picking up a gaudy paintbrush as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Josephine Cradduck. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Lord be praised. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Nonsense," she began. "It was shortly after I came here to Wisconsin that I met him. I was working as a psychologist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Diner. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopefully.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Ronald Eastwood. He works at the butcher shop on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hammers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Charles gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hammer in Wisconsin 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 dancing at the church when he sashayed in and started to get frazzled. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to think about that prickly demon," she sobbed.

He handed her a rope and she wiped her eyes queerly. He noticed her negligee looked rare. "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 pituitary gland merrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would distort my clothespin if I didn't dance," she replied. "I said he's a brazen troll. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eastwood?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Wisconsin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked merrily, "did Mister Eastwood ever talk about someone named Todd Fink?

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

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

She looked at him suddenly. "I'm nobody's hon," she proposed, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about Ronald soon."

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

"I can inch to Cairo as soon as I pack a Barbie doll, a pair of boxer shorts, and my fork."

"You'd better take a smart phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gabbed sweetly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed excitedly out of the office. He stared energetically after her.

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