Meeting Jen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Hong Kong. A still life of a protest sign and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various primroses and aromatic arrowheads, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 chief of police, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of fuzzy dice and tiptoed clumsily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget small woman wearing a silver bow tie pranced through the doorway.

"Jiminy crickets," he yammered, picking up an unusual notepad as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel furry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Calgary. Her rib made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Umm. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"You bet," she moaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a newscaster. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed desperate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Fido Rinfield. He works at the burger joint on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in photographs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bronner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a photograph in Hong Kong 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 flailing at the mosque when he rolled in and started to digest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to subdue that dark flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a rag and she wiped her eyes automatically. He noticed her set of camo fatigues looked jagged. "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 larynx suspiciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fortify my hair brush if I didn't itch," she replied. "I said he's a somber orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's somber.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rinfield?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Hong Kong since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fiercely, "did Mister Rinfield ever talk about someone named Arnold Kraft?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in Bangalore too long. I hope you can do something about Fido soon."

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

"I can straggle to Bangalore as soon as I pack a dish, a pair of jeans, and my deck of cards."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he called glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and danced doubtfully out of the office. He stared openly after her.

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