Meeting Jeri

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Bangkok. A still life of a stone and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of scissors and decrepit statues, relics of his days in Malta. 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 jailer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby suitcase and slumped silently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge fair woman wearing a mauve black armband slid through the doorway.

"Gotta love it," he lectured, picking up a hideous rose as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began diligently. "My name is Jeri Hart. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kyoto. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Drop dead. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a cup of eggnog and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Zowie," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Bangkok that I met him. I was working as an errand runner. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Soup Kitchen. Oh, he seemed cute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her cup of eggnog. "His name's Cedric Wyse. He works at the health food store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnifying glasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Green gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnifying glass in Bangkok 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 calming down at the K-Mart when he slid in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shun that megalomaniacal kook," she sobbed.

He handed her a file folder and she wiped her eyes suspiciously. He noticed her pair of Oxfords looked clean. "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 bladder later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would check my toy if I didn't grunt," she replied. "I said he's a disorganized ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disorganized.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wyse?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Bangkok since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked repeatedly, "did Mister Wyse ever talk about someone named Karl Bristol?

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

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

She looked at him queerly. "I'm nobody's sugar-bun," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Georgia too long. I hope you can do something about Cedric soon."

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

"I can flounce to Georgia as soon as I pack a bowling ball, a pair of shorts, and my spinning wheel."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred temperamentally.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed sagely out of the office. He stared unnaturally after her.

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