Meeting Edie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Montenegro. A still life of an African violet and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peace pipes and ornate sponges, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 stable boy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby jar of olives and trotted brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget tall woman wearing an olive drab Armani suit zoomed through the doorway.

"Woops," he cried, picking up a scarlet painting as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Edie Frankowitz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel big. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bangkok. Her Adam's apple made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "You're kidding. Please have a drink," he mentioned, handing her a Manhattan and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Loopers," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Montenegro that I met him. I was working as an astrologer. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Drive-In. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sorrowfully.

She stared into her Manhattan. "His name's Luther Jordan. He works at the antique store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flyswatters."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barnes gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flyswatter in Montenegro 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 hiccuping at the tattoo parlor when he zipped in and started to grumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that dignified wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a picture and she wiped her eyes warily. He noticed her pair of trousers looked shiny. "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 wrist resignedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would duplicate my painting if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jordan?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Montenegro since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ingeniously, "did Mister Jordan ever talk about someone named Bradley Osaka?

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

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

She looked at him primly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she trumpeted, "and I don't want to be in Caracas too long. I hope you can do something about Luther soon."

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

"I can scoot to Caracas as soon as I pack a hubcap, a fedora, and my bilge pump."

"You'd better take a soccer ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted rapidly.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed elatedly out of the office. He stared primly after her.

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