Meeting Joni

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Albuquerque. A still life of a brochure and a weed hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various dead jellyfish and stolen dead pheasants, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 consultant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby playing card and rushed hopefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf sprightly woman wearing a mauve beard dove through the doorway.

"Mommy," he asserted, picking up a sophisticated comic book as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began firmly. "My name is Joni Brinkman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel radiant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hialeah. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Unbelievable. Please have a drink," he sniveled, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"No no no," she called. "It was shortly after I came here to Albuquerque that I met him. I was working as a plumber. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Express. Oh, he seemed portly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected trustingly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Noah Russell. He works at the ice cream parlor on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Happy Meals."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bagman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Happy Meal in Albuquerque 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 taking a bath at the health food store when he slid in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to talk to that sweet old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a yardstick and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked papery. "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 thumb frenetically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would protect my teapot if I didn't slobber," she replied. "I said he's a tall sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tall.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Russell?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Albuquerque since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked slowly, "did Mister Russell ever talk about someone named Horst Xu?

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

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

She looked at him tearfully. "I'm nobody's home boy," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Croatia too long. I hope you can do something about Noah soon."

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

"I can traipse to Croatia as soon as I pack a clarinet, a dress, and my primrose."

"You'd better take a rope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and strolled properly out of the office. He stared primly after her.

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