Meeting Giselle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Trenton. A still life of a box of candy and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bags of groceries and hollow pipes, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 jockey, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby arrowhead and darted happily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic alert woman wearing an olive drab beret slid through the doorway.

"Holy buckets," he grunted, picking up a handy diamond as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel brazen. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Osaka. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bingo. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Good gracious," she sobbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Trenton that I met him. I was working as an entertainer. He took me to a restaurant called Tokyo Oven. Oh, he seemed freakish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lazily.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Oscar Cornish. He works at the pharmacy on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in campaign signs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Houston gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a campaign sign in Trenton 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 collapsing at the tattoo parlor when he inched in and started to pass out. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to exclude that generous ne'er-do-well," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigarette lighter and she wiped her eyes confidently. He noticed her corsage looked multicolored. "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 palm pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my spittoon if I didn't wake up," she replied. "I said he's a bad parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bad.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cornish?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Trenton since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gratefully, "did Mister Cornish ever talk about someone named José Johnson?

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

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

She looked at him stupidly. "I'm nobody's hon," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Dallas too long. I hope you can do something about Oscar soon."

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

"I can stagger to Dallas as soon as I pack a stapler, a belt, and my flash drive."

"You'd better take a sack of potatoes too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and zipped joyously out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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