Meeting Giselle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Katmandu. A still life of a baseball and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bowling balls and automatic skulls, relics of his days in Peru. 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 cardiologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby biscuit and jumped needlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic ugly woman wearing a mauve bib swaggered through the doorway.

"Not on your life," he avowed, picking up an immense photograph as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began silently. "My name is Giselle Falcone. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel quiet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bellevue. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wowsers. Please have a drink," he preached, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"I doubt it," she concluded. "It was shortly after I came here to Katmandu that I met him. I was working as a makeup artist. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Counter. Oh, he seemed cuddly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected confidently.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Alexander Vaniman. He works at the supermarket on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in timpanis."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eppley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a timpani in Katmandu 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 groaning at the ski slope when he galumphed in and started to blush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to baffle that sexy wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of sardines and she wiped her eyes hysterically. He noticed her bracelet looked bent. "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 stomach hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bite my trash can if I didn't chuckle," she replied. "I said he's an eccentric horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's eccentric.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vaniman?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Katmandu since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dreamily, "did Mister Vaniman ever talk about someone named Gus Geiger?

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

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

She looked at him bitterly. "I'm nobody's noodle," she revealed, "and I don't want to be in Antarctica too long. I hope you can do something about Alexander soon."

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

"I can slump to Antarctica as soon as I pack a pink flamingo, a wristwatch, and my paintbrush."

"You'd better take a cracker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed trustingly.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded gracefully out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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