Meeting Griselda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Stockton. A still life of a cotton ball and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various whistles and flaky corks, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 percussionist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby magnifying glass and skidded frenetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous tiny woman wearing a sparkly pair of cowboy boots slithered through the doorway.

"Diddly bunk," he howled, picking up a woven bag of potato chips as he darted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blindly. "My name is Griselda Rutherford. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pomona. Her leg made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yes. Please have a drink," he brought up, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Ulp," she sneered. "It was shortly after I came here to Stockton that I met him. I was working as a referee. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Basket. Oh, he seemed distressed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wearily.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Lonnie Barton. He works at the used car lot on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in joints."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rutherford gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a joint in Stockton 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 puffing at the ski resort when he sped in and started to murmur. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that moronic dolt," she sobbed.

He handed her a baseball and she wiped her eyes woodenly. He noticed her pair of cycling shorts looked amazing. "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 gall bladder busily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would see my sack of potatoes if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's a corpulent kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's corpulent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barton?"

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

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

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

He sounded more repulsive than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and yelped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like anise since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Barton ever talk about someone named Lucifer Kennedy?

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

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

She looked at him numbly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she blustered, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Lonnie soon."

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

"I can jog to Belgium as soon as I pack a dictionary, a dress, and my diamond."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed clumsily.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled repeatedly out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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