Meeting Juanita

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Angola. A still life of an Egyptian mummy and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various peaches and modern stones, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 philatelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick of gum and crept again toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge smallish woman wearing a yellow pair of dungarees waltzed through the doorway.

"Great Scott," he noted, picking up an important cookie as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sagely. "My name is Juanita Weston. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ungainly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lake Placid. Her horn made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Waa. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her an old fashioned and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

"This is difficult for me," she giggled, 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 wildly.

"My land," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Angola that I met him. I was working as a calligrapher. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial River. Oh, he seemed ungainly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected offhandedly.

She stared into her old fashioned. "His name's Bradley Berry. He works at the bar on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of chalk."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Xing gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of chalk in Angola 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 daydreaming at the jail when he waltzed in and started to pass out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that funny scalawag," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of perfume and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her set of camo fatigues looked gleaming. "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 hand sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my Happy Meal if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's a brazen goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Berry?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Angola since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked courageously, "did Mister Berry ever talk about someone named Carl Soto?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's sparky," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in South Africa too long. I hope you can do something about Bradley soon."

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

"I can careen to South Africa as soon as I pack a bag, a corset, and my floppy disk."

"You'd better take a toothbrush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chortled strictly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed quickly out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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