Meeting Julia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Rhode Island. A still life of a teacup and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various arrowheads and gaudy paper airplanes, relics of his days in Somalia. 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 compass and waddled neatly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby handsome woman wearing a golden pair of sandals flew through the doorway.

"Gawwwleeee," he taunted, picking up a crooked cardboard box as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Julia Melville. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel impish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rio de Janeiro. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hello. Please have a drink," he indicated, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Zzzzz," she lectured. "It was shortly after I came here to Rhode Island that I met him. I was working as a bicycle messenger. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed demented enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected primly.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Nils van Dorn. He works at the restaurant on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in helmets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Greer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a helmet in Rhode Island 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 glowering at the party when he swung in and started to curtsey. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frighten that humble hoodlum," she sobbed.

He handed her a pain pill and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her letter jacket looked plastic. "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 palm lightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my Van Gogh if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a moody goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's moody.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Dorn?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Rhode Island since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tearfully, "did Mister Van Dorn ever talk about someone named Elijah Moretti?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's hon," she begged, "and I don't want to be in South Carolina too long. I hope you can do something about Nils soon."

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

"I can fly to South Carolina as soon as I pack a joint, a bathrobe, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a Bible too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked sarcastically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirteen dollars as a retainer," she replied sourly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of rolls of duct tape. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and lurched slyly out of the office. He stared sympathetically after her.

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