Meeting Jill

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Des Moines. A still life of a screwdriver and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pearls and smumpy whistles, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 ice cream vendor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby button and strode suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature scraggly woman wearing a burgundy tunic clambered through the doorway.

"Poppycock," he sneered, picking up a porcelain box of candy as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel forgetful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Long Beach. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ahh. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Roger that," she begged. "It was shortly after I came here to Des Moines that I met him. I was working as a writer. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Snack Shack. Oh, he seemed self-confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected elatedly.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Lynn Thomas. He works at the haberdashery on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tuxedos."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Giddings gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tuxedo in Des Moines 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 muttering at the poetry reading when he made a beeline in and started to run away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to expose that repulsive she-wolf," she sobbed.

He handed her a rock and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her cat suit looked filthy. "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 artery merrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfold my remote control if I didn't stand by," she replied. "I said he's a sinister badger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thomas?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Des Moines since then."

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

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

He sounded more elderly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his aorta like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Duck Duck Goose for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a sardine cannery since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked glumly, "did Mister Thomas ever talk about someone named Rutherford Cunningham?

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

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

She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's honey-pie," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Cincinnati too long. I hope you can do something about Lynn soon."

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

"I can lumber to Cincinnati as soon as I pack a sponge, a G-string, and my football."

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

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

She rose from her seat and dashed madly out of the office. He stared merrily after her.

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