Meeting Julie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Kenya. A still life of a pair of fuzzy dice and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various boxes of Kleenex and smooth pieces of candy, 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 fisherman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby urn and dashed sheepishly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed chubby woman wearing a silver sweatshirt hobbled through the doorway.

"I'll bet," he spat, picking up a wet toolbox as he clambered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aw. Please have a drink," he roared, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Quiet," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Kenya that I met him. I was working as a cook. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Feast. Oh, he seemed fiendish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Joshua Nighthawk. He works at the beauty salon on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in packages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nilsson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a package in Kenya 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 smiling at the juice shop when he capered in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to malign that moody bumpkin," she sobbed.

He handed her a comic book and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously. He noticed her pair of earmuffs looked fluffy. "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 foot intensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grease my baseball bat if I didn't party," she replied. "I said he's a merry bandicoot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's merry.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nighthawk?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked deftly, "did Mister Nighthawk ever talk about someone named Hank Morales?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she worried, "and I don't want to be in Bolivia too long. I hope you can do something about Joshua soon."

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

"I can tumble to Bolivia as soon as I pack a flashlight, a hoop skirt, and my joint."

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

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

She rose from her seat and pranced noisily out of the office. He stared gruffly after her.

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