Meeting Judith

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Baton Rouge. A still life of a spittoon and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pails and autographed pickles, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 nutritionist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby snail and whirled carefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine cadaverous woman wearing a jade tarboosh capered through the doorway.

"Teehee," he articulated, picking up an old toy as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel intelligent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fargo. Her nose made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers creepers. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Pow," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Baton Rouge that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Platter. Oh, he seemed intrepid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Yancey Mondegreen. He works at the cigar store on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magazines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Salinger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magazine in Baton Rouge 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 muttering at the jail when he ran in and started to holler. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that daring mush-for-brains," she sobbed.

He handed her an oriental vase and she wiped her eyes excitedly. He noticed her pair of pantaloons looked important. "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 claw nervously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would squash my bird bath if I didn't blank out," she replied. "I said he's a garrulous toad. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's garrulous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mondegreen?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lickety-split, "did Mister Mondegreen ever talk about someone named Charles Chu?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Salinger operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tinky-wink, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cardboard box in Central African Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him perkily. "I'm nobody's tinky-wink," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Yancey soon."

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

"I can sail to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a shovel, a hearing aid, and my snail."

"You'd better take a pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smirked rapidly.

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

She rose from her seat and bolted resignedly out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

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