Meeting Julie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Morocco. A still life of a purse and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various suitcases and hand-painted advertisements, relics of his days in Myanmar. 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 auctioneer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby beach ball and strode suspiciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bony woman wearing an emerald green class ring crept through the doorway.

"Blaak," he stammered, picking up a crude flowerpot as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began craftily. "My name is Julie Swaanhof. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cuddly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lincoln. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tut-tut. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Yipes," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Morocco that I met him. I was working as a sports writer. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Blossom. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Tex Satterlee. He works at the photography studio on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clothespins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cramer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clothespin in Morocco 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 weeping at the mall when he strolled in and started to get upset. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to outwit that paranoid fathead," she sobbed.

He handed her an apple and she wiped her eyes sympathetically. He noticed her blanket looked fabulous. "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 appendix nimbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my watering can if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a distressed falcon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's distressed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Satterlee?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked properly, "did Mister Satterlee ever talk about someone named Deng Mainz?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Cramer operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in Liberia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she answered, "and I don't want to be in Liberia too long. I hope you can do something about Tex soon."

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

"I can clamber to Liberia as soon as I pack a basketball, a cowboy hat, and my chess set."

"You'd better take an artificial flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed hastily.

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

She rose from her seat and marched innocently out of the office. He stared pityingly after her.

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