Meeting June

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

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

The office was cluttered with various toilet plungers and automatic forks, relics of his days in the United States. 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 novelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spittoon and tumbled quickly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe demonic woman wearing a jet black ring walked through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he imitated, picking up an important pipe as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel presumptuous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I've had it. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"The joke's on me," she offered. "It was shortly after I came here to Uruguay that I met him. I was working as a translator. He took me to a restaurant called the Rainbow Dragon. Oh, he seemed cautious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Joseph Wibbles. He works at the laboratory on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in thumb drives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Northrum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a thumb drive in Uruguay 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 adjusting at the closet when he skidded in and started to barf. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to escape from that sophisticated savage," she sobbed.

He handed her a Helmholz resonator and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her gladiator helmet looked miniature. "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 claw carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would switch my fountain pen if I didn't chant," she replied. "I said he's a bald turkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bald.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wibbles?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Uruguay since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tenderly, "did Mister Wibbles ever talk about someone named Nestor Coleman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Northrum operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sugar plum, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice junk car in Vatican City. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's sugar plum," she stated, "and I don't want to be in Vatican City too long. I hope you can do something about Joseph soon."

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

"I can rush to Vatican City as soon as I pack a rubber chicken, a bonnet, and my rose."

"You'd better take a key ring too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sighed blissfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighteen dollars as a retainer," she replied woodenly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of dog collars. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waltzed ferociously out of the office. He stared fearfully after her.

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