Meeting Jeri

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the United Kingdom. A still life of a Bible and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various charts and grubby paintings, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 gardener, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby smart phone and stormed humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied smallish woman wearing a peach birthday suit struggled through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he cried, picking up a gigantic fossil as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel annoying. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milan. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bullpuckey. Please have a drink," he judged, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the card table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she reasoned, glancing at the set of football pads he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"I'll bet," she emphasized. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Kingdom that I met him. I was working as a truck driver. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Bison. Oh, he seemed anemic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Scotty Kafka. He works at the bar on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in beach balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ullman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a beach ball in the United Kingdom 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 looking puzzled at the spelling bee when he slumped in and started to stare. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to baffle that mindless snowflake," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle and she wiped her eyes impatiently. He noticed her garland looked disgusting. "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 knee urgently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wipe my gun if I didn't yell," she replied. "I said he's a fierce jellyfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fierce.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kafka?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in the United Kingdom since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pityingly, "did Mister Kafka ever talk about someone named Dennis Lamb?

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

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

She looked at him daringly. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she burbled, "and I don't want to be in Billings too long. I hope you can do something about Scotty soon."

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

"I can run to Billings as soon as I pack a bag of potato chips, a G-string, and my broom."

"You'd better take a jar of olives too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chuckled nimbly.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled brightly out of the office. He stared sharply after her.

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