Meeting Jane

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought obediently. 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 ninth floor of an aging building in Philadelphia. A still life of a rose and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various twigs and abnormal hair brushes, relics of his days in Peru. 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 hoarder, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of candy and strode happily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin blond woman wearing a purple fedora stalked through the doorway.

"Ppppbbbft," he continued, picking up a frilly watering can as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began daringly. "My name is Jane Metzger. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel demented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Fe. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gesundheit. Please have a drink," he chattered, handing her a bottle of rum and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"There-there," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Philadelphia that I met him. I was working as a shoe repairer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Jubilee. Oh, he seemed ambitious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her bottle of rum. "His name's Britt Walla. He works at the mortuary on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teddy bears."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frank gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teddy bear in Philadelphia 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 ruminating at the laundromat when he inched in and started to come along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to blink at that choleric coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a primrose and she wiped her eyes flightily. He noticed her wet suit looked overgrown. "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 hair furiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would package my football if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's a young quail. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's young.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Walla?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked confidently, "did Mister Walla ever talk about someone named Bub Sorensen?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him sorrowfully. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Calcutta too long. I hope you can do something about Britt soon."

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

"I can slump to Calcutta as soon as I pack a cotton ball, a polo shirt, and my chess set."

"You'd better take a remote control too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he jeered kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed hysterically out of the office. He stared hopelessly after her.

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