Meeting Joanie

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought arrogantly. 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 eighth floor of an aging building in Peoria. A still life of a pain pill and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various shovels and primitive banjos, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 yoga instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby balloon and hopped patiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied dinky woman wearing a green suit rushed through the doorway.

"Cool beans," he mused, picking up a small model airplane as he sped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Joanie Singh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel paranoid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madrid. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Great Jehosaphat," she spouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Peoria that I met him. I was working as a manicurist. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Counter. Oh, he seemed rugged enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Russ Sitting Bird. He works at the perfumery on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in photographs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hyde gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a photograph in Peoria 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 screeching at the bookstore when he galloped in and started to flinch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peek at that bouncy baby," she sobbed.

He handed her a calculator and she wiped her eyes frenetically. He noticed her skirt looked smelly. "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 collarbone crankily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would toss my dollar bill if I didn't play solitaire," she replied. "I said he's a demented hornet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sitting Bird?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked rapidly, "did Mister Sitting Bird ever talk about someone named Willard Marks?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Hyde 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 church in the Marshall Islands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him ruefully. "I'm nobody's bud," she barked, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Russ soon."

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

"I can bolt to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a baseball bat, a pair of false eyelashes, and my bag of popcorn."

"You'd better take a bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed hysterically.

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

She rose from her seat and strode swiftly out of the office. He stared woefully after her.

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