Meeting Geraldine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Liverpool. A still life of a pipe and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cell phones and abnormal rolls of duct tape, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 fireman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of fuzzy dice and clambered stupidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall gaunt woman wearing a blue gunny sack staggered through the doorway.

"Scurvy dog," he sniffed, picking up a fuzzy china doll as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began neatly. "My name is Geraldine Bartholomew. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dapper. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Reno. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Good golly. Please have a drink," he squealed, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Bowwow," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Liverpool that I met him. I was working as an engineer. He took me to a restaurant called Cindy's Den. Oh, he seemed yappy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Frankie Bernal. He works at the hair salon on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diagrams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pythagoras gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diagram in Liverpool 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 doodling at the swimming pool when he lurched in and started to ruminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to date that stylish low-life," she sobbed.

He handed her a plaque and she wiped her eyes irritably. He noticed her gown looked disgusting. "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 tongue hopelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would abuse my pacifier if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a quiet poodle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bernal?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Liverpool since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked timidly, "did Mister Bernal ever talk about someone named Michael Moreland?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's cupcake," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in Benin too long. I hope you can do something about Frankie soon."

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

"I can lumber to Benin as soon as I pack a gun, a locket, and my houseplant."

"You'd better take a kite too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he phrased shakily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred thirty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied tensely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of chamber pots. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and cantered slyly out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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