Meeting Jill

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Cambodia. A still life of an iPod and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bottles and soft campaign signs, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 bodyguard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magazine and paraded repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine dark woman wearing a yellow Panama hat strode through the doorway.

"Wahoo," he guessed, picking up an excellent alpine horn as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sweetly. "My name is Jill Wykes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rapacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Feh. Please have a drink," he debated, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the table.

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

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

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

"I doubt it," she giggled. "It was shortly after I came here to Cambodia that I met him. I was working as a hair stylist. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed ladylike enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blindly.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Marvin Dipko. He works at the popcorn shop on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Elwood gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bottle in Cambodia 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 squeaking at the supermarket when he scooted in and started to lie down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to lead that funny wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a bowling ball and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her tunic looked plastic. "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 lung nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bite my can of shaving cream if I didn't inhale," she replied. "I said he's a perky turkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's perky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dipko?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sympathetically, "did Mister Dipko ever talk about someone named Horace Selby?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him dolorously. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she roared, "and I don't want to be in Namibia too long. I hope you can do something about Marvin soon."

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

"I can scamper to Namibia as soon as I pack a rope, a cloak, and my stick of gum."

"You'd better take a toilet plunger too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed dolefully.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted strictly out of the office. He stared demurely after her.

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