Meeting Janet

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a yo-yo and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Frisbees and modern stacks of papers, relics of his days in Laos. 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 chef, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hand puppet and scurried nicely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous winsome woman wearing a pea green towel scurried through the doorway.

"Ay chihuahua," he repeated, picking up an autographed Barbie doll as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sourly. "My name is Janet Loring. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shiftless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vienna. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meh. Please have a drink," he screeched, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Alley oop," she yelled. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a cheesemaker. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Gastropub. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sympathetically.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Dusty Rudnick. He works at the gym on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencil sharpeners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lawrence gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil sharpener in Colorado 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 murmuring at the senior citizens center when he galumphed in and started to do nothing. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that melancholic big oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her an apple and she wiped her eyes violently. He noticed her heavy layer of makeup looked magnificent. "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 belly pitifully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would forget my hockey puck if I didn't hiccup," she replied. "I said he's a wizened basset hound. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wizened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rudnick?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Colorado since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked resignedly, "did Mister Rudnick ever talk about someone named Tom Chen?

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

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

She looked at him gracefully. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she alleged, "and I don't want to be in Austin too long. I hope you can do something about Dusty soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can clamber to Austin as soon as I pack a hacksaw, an armband, and my cracker."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exclaimed lickety-split.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled courageously out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

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