Meeting Joyce

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Vatican City. A still life of a box and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various staplers and hefty houseplants, relics of his days in Russia. 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 chauffeur, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peach and lumbered primly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight heavyset woman wearing a silver armband pranced through the doorway.

"Knock me over with a feather," he imitated, picking up a disgusting fish as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began later. "My name is Joyce Glover. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Aurora. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hah. Please have a drink," he articulated, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"Jumpin’ Jehosaphat," she peeped. "It was shortly after I came here to Vatican City that I met him. I was working as a makeup artist. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Mist. Oh, he seemed taciturn enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopefully.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Stanley Law. He works at the boutique on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Okara gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in Vatican City 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 itching at the city park when he inched in and started to giggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that noxious mush-for-brains," she sobbed.

He handed her a beach ball and she wiped her eyes blissfully. He noticed her cowboy hat looked expensive. "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 pituitary gland slyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would manage my clipboard if I didn't faint," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy nightingale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Law?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Vatican City since then."

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

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

He sounded more calm than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his midriff like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and cleared out for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cigarette smoke since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked vigorously, "did Mister Law ever talk about someone named Tex Hamm?

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

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

She looked at him fearlessly. "I'm nobody's lover," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Fort Wayne too long. I hope you can do something about Stanley soon."

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

"I can wade to Fort Wayne as soon as I pack an urn, a pair of dungarees, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a stick too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he shuddered automatically.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded effortlessly out of the office. He stared fearlessly after her.

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