Meeting Jennessa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Zimbabwe. A still life of a sponge and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various spinning wheels and funny stacks of papers, relics of his days in Israel. 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 blacksmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ice cream cone and paraded temperamentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky gaunt woman wearing a purple gown sailed through the doorway.

"Shiver me timbers," he trumpeted, picking up an automatic floppy disk as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pomona. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh. Please have a drink," he acknowledged, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Hell's bells," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Zimbabwe that I met him. I was working as a helicopter pilot. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed stubborn enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deliberately.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Broderick Booth. He works at the restaurant on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird cages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hruska gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird cage in Zimbabwe 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 grumbling at the health food store when he rushed in and started to sway. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tattle on that shiftless ghoul," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of shaving cream and she wiped her eyes positively. He noticed her sweater looked unusual. "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 skin happily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hit my shovel if I didn't howl," she replied. "I said he's a deadly goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's deadly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Booth?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Zimbabwe since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wryly, "did Mister Booth ever talk about someone named Randall Johnson?

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

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

She looked at him crankily. "I'm nobody's sugar-bun," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in Colorado too long. I hope you can do something about Broderick soon."

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

"I can scamper to Colorado as soon as I pack a candle, a raincoat, and my pack of gum."

"You'd better take a hip flask too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wailed threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled lazily out of the office. He stared unabashedly after her.

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