Meeting Jodene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Providence. A still life of a dog biscuit and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various feathers and handy crates, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 appliance repairman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rag and loped kindly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy undersized woman wearing a scarlet pair of cargo pants walked through the doorway.

"I think not," he phrased, picking up a polka-dotted box of candy as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Jodene Schmuckley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wizened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Green Bay. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Far out. Please have a drink," he judged, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Blast," she recited. "It was shortly after I came here to Providence that I met him. I was working as a dog groomer. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Diner. Oh, he seemed naïve enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brashly.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Mason Dipko. He works at the furniture store on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fountain pens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCray gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fountain pen in Providence 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 snickering at the bowling alley when he staggered in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to amuse that proud snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her an urn and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her false beard looked large. "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 Adam's apple sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would glue my urn if I didn't wiggle," she replied. "I said he's a confident coyote. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's confident.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dipko?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Providence since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked greedily, "did Mister Dipko ever talk about someone named Nicholas McKenzie?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's toodleums," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in St. Paul too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can stroll to St. Paul as soon as I pack a bird cage, a pair of Groucho glasses, and my umbrella."

"You'd better take a piggy bank too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped daintily.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped sternly out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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