Meeting Jen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in New Zealand. A still life of a can of soup and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of dice and polished lightsabers, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 truck driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Rubik's cube and climbed vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic undersized woman wearing an azure pair of Bermuda shorts scurried through the doorway.

"Eek," he blustered, picking up a smooth arrowhead as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began firmly. "My name is Jen Chu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fierce. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Berlin. Her stomach made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Drat. Please have a drink," he blathered, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the piano.

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

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

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

"Zzzzz," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to New Zealand that I met him. I was working as a sheriff. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Chef. Oh, he seemed forgetful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected offhandedly.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Papa Feldman. He works at the newsstand on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dog biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Norris gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dog biscuit in New Zealand 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 getting away at the pet store when he whirled in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that thoughtful so-and-so," she sobbed.

He handed her a kite and she wiped her eyes frantically. He noticed her pocket watch looked hideous. "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 larynx fervently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my pair of pliers if I didn't blush," she replied. "I said he's a noxious coyote. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Feldman?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in New Zealand since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Feldman ever talk about someone named Vilmer Trane?

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

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

She looked at him neatly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Micronesia too long. I hope you can do something about Papa soon."

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

"I can straggle to Micronesia as soon as I pack a duffel bag, a turtleneck, and my diagram."

"You'd better take a snail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed hungrily.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed later out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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