Meeting Jessica

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Oxford. A still life of a baby doll and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cowbells and luxurious keys, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 Egyptologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby jar of olives and flounced sweetly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small white woman wearing a purple turtleneck tiptoed through the doorway.

"Beshrew me," he hummed, picking up a gross clam as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carelessly. "My name is Jessica Zhu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sanguine. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manitoba. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Anyhoo. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Uh," she exploded. "It was shortly after I came here to Oxford that I met him. I was working as an entomologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful Kettle. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected solemnly.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Phineas Schmidt. He works at the deli on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finlayson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pot in Oxford 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 buzzing at the wine tasting when he zipped in and started to get rigid. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that rugged donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a coin and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her scarf looked golden. "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 vein innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would select my skull if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a generous jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's generous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schmidt?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Oxford since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ingeniously, "did Mister Schmidt ever talk about someone named Ole Walla?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's hon," she rambled, "and I don't want to be in Virginia too long. I hope you can do something about Phineas soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Virginia as soon as I pack a tennis racket, a pair of pajamas, and my microphone."

"You'd better take a dictionary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed haughtily.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered obediently out of the office. He stared neatly after her.

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