Meeting Jen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Wyoming. A still life of a chamber pot and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pacifiers and overgrown dictionaries, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 scout, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and skittered delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small dapper woman wearing an orange cocktail dress slipped through the doorway.

"Big deal," he judged, picking up a rusty stuffed owl as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began swiftly. "My name is Jen Burns. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel childish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tucson. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woops. Please have a drink," he breathed, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Doggone," she noted. "It was shortly after I came here to Wyoming that I met him. I was working as a disk jockey. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Holiday. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coolly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Dirk Sandman. He works at the novelty shop on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Evans gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pipe in Wyoming 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 doing the Hokey Pokey at the church when he sashayed in and started to dream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that decisive cream puff," she sobbed.

He handed her a clarinet and she wiped her eyes boisterously. He noticed her pair of boxing gloves looked hand-painted. "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 thyroid gland elatedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my bowl if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's a sincere polecat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sincere.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sandman?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopelessly, "did Mister Sandman ever talk about someone named Gilbert McAllister?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Evans operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey bunch, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice geodesic dome in New York. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's honey bunch," she alleged, "and I don't want to be in New York too long. I hope you can do something about Dirk soon."

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

"I can amble to New York as soon as I pack a coin, a pair of cycling shorts, and my smart phone."

"You'd better take a blank check too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued coolly.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered intensely out of the office. He stared lovingly after her.

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