Meeting Josephine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Central African Republic. A still life of a pen and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various chains and hand-made saddles, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 barista, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magnet and walked delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small wizened woman wearing a jet black name tag ambled through the doorway.

"Buzzards," he exclaimed, picking up a rigid cell phone as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began automatically. "My name is Josephine Brown. 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 Pasadena. Her artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Moo. Please have a drink," he shouted, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Lordy," she worried. "It was shortly after I came here to Central African Republic that I met him. I was working as a locksmith. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Forest. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cruelly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Arnold Schaffer. He works at the bus station on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of binoculars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ping gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of binoculars in Central African Republic 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 fretting at the supermarket when he set out in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to educate that nervous worm," she sobbed.

He handed her an egg shell and she wiped her eyes arrogantly. He noticed her dirndl looked dirty. "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 liver lamely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my chess set if I didn't get angry," she replied. "I said he's a dumb raccoon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schaffer?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Central African Republic since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolorously, "did Mister Schaffer ever talk about someone named William Pough?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ping operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, apple of my eye, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice ranch house in Madagascar. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him deftly. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she worried, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Arnold soon."

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

"I can breeze to Madagascar as soon as I pack a bottle, a set of braces, and my stuffed owl."

"You'd better take a stick of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he comforted firmly.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed nicely out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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