Meeting Judith

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Lithuania. A still life of an artificial flower and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paintbrushes and big chairs, relics of his days in Kuwait. 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 government agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby doll and waddled doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky bony woman wearing a crimson ring waded through the doorway.

"Indeed," he questioned, picking up a striking sack as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hysterically. "My name is Judith Thurston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel apoplectic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fayetteville. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crackers. Please have a drink," he laughed, handing her an iced tea 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 straitjacket he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Fine," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to Lithuania that I met him. I was working as a pathologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Harvest. Oh, he seemed queer enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slyly.

She stared into her iced tea. "His name's Chuck Kissling. He works at the dry cleaner on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wilhelm gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a top in Lithuania 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 nodding at the church when he bounded in and started to clap. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that gregarious rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a garbage can and she wiped her eyes sharply. He noticed her bracelet looked new. "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 spine flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ridicule my plaque if I didn't turn blue," she replied. "I said he's a fuzzy pony. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fuzzy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kissling?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked miserably, "did Mister Kissling ever talk about someone named Upton Eaton?

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

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

She looked at him hungrily. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Bakersfield too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can lumber to Bakersfield as soon as I pack a diary, a set of football pads, and my cookbook."

"You'd better take a bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and tramped vacantly out of the office. He stared defiantly after her.

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