Meeting Jodene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Spain. A still life of a coat hanger and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fingernail clippers and electronic air horns, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 makeup artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby trash can and barrelled carelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive redheaded woman wearing an olive green earring traipsed through the doorway.

"At last," he voiced, picking up a coarse bone as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Jodene Irvin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fearful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shanghai. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Abracadabra. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Anyhow," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Spain that I met him. I was working as a florist. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Dragon. Oh, he seemed decisive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected awkwardly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Joe Katz. He works at the popcorn shop on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in telephones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Khatchaturian gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a telephone in Spain 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 grinning at the recycling bin when he rolled in and started to think. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scar that furry birdbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of fuzzy dice and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her class ring looked dusty. "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 face queerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crush my can of shaving cream if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a nonchalant kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nonchalant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Katz?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Spain since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Katz ever talk about someone named Josh Sales?

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

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

She looked at him impatiently. "I'm nobody's toots," she railed, "and I don't want to be in Cyprus too long. I hope you can do something about Joe soon."

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

"I can slide to Cyprus as soon as I pack a joint, a suit of armor, and my cane."

"You'd better take a microscope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blubbered nimbly.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged bitterly out of the office. He stared vigorously after her.

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