Meeting Judith

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Waco. A still life of a wrench and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various biscuits and art deco urns, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 fireman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby nail and ran jokingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget shapely woman wearing a pea green vest made a beeline through the doorway.

"By all the saints," he imitated, picking up a striking ashtray as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel young. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boohoo. Please have a drink," he affirmed, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Sheesh," she purred. "It was shortly after I came here to Waco that I met him. I was working as a singer. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Table. Oh, he seemed generous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected roughly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Jared Skye. He works at the shoe store on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whistles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bradley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whistle in Waco 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 digesting at the ski slope when he clambered in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that brazen old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle and she wiped her eyes queerly. He noticed her gunny sack looked ridged. "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 aorta unabashedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crack my Kindle if I didn't crouch," she replied. "I said he's a menacing buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's menacing.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Skye?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Waco since then."

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

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

He sounded more brassy 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 sneezed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Christian Dior since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked gingerly, "did Mister Skye ever talk about someone named Kelly Cruz?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's bud," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in Concord too long. I hope you can do something about Jared soon."

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

"I can inch to Concord as soon as I pack a mousetrap, a moustache, and my calculator."

"You'd better take a muffin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chimed impatiently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied accidentally. 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 bounded hungrily out of the office. He stared cruelly after her.

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