Meeting Gretchen

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

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

The office was cluttered with various iPhones and primitive hats, relics of his days in Senegal. 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 bartender, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Hostess Ding Dong and bounded perkily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt demonic woman wearing a forest green cape stormed through the doorway.

"Dang it," he affirmed, picking up an old plaque as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cunningly. "My name is Gretchen Wales. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frantic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lake Placid. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now we're talking. Please have a drink," he chimed, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the stool.

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

"This is difficult for me," she reacted, glancing at the pair of boxing gloves he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Blah," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Miami that I met him. I was working as an accountant. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Fox. Oh, he seemed distressed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Raymond Goossens. He works at the souvenir shop on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Helmholz resonators."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Helmholz resonator in Miami 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 wobbling at the pet store when he waddled in and started to exhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scare that cuddly harebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pepper grinder and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her watch looked burned. "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 lung neatly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would push my bag of potato chips if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's an energetic leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's energetic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goossens?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Miami since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ingeniously, "did Mister Goossens ever talk about someone named Drover Montgomery?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Barry operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cream puff, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mud hut in Malta. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him briskly. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she recited, "and I don't want to be in Malta too long. I hope you can do something about Raymond soon."

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

"I can blunder to Malta as soon as I pack a sponge, a gorilla suit, and my painting."

"You'd better take a basket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interpreted smoothly.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded sadly out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

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