Meeting Rhoda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Illinois. A still life of a flute and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various radios and odd pain pills, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 coroner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and stormed repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely smallish woman wearing a periwinkle Armani suit clambered through the doorway.

"Big whoop," he raved, picking up a stolen whistle as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Rhoda Hyde. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel melancholic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sacramento. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Inconceivable. Please have a drink," he urged, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"Very interesting," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Illinois that I met him. I was working as a cook. He took me to a restaurant called the Floating Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed atrocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Owen Gagné. He works at the movie theater on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corncobs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corncob in Illinois 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 bleeding at the health food store when he inched in and started to run. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that puzzled cheater," she sobbed.

He handed her a stick and she wiped her eyes angrily. He noticed her hoodie 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 spine warmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would ruin my blank check if I didn't come along," she replied. "I said he's a frantic swan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gagné?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked joyously, "did Mister Gagné ever talk about someone named Oliver Bronner?

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

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

She looked at him blissfully. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she instructed, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Owen soon."

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

"I can go to Chad as soon as I pack a notebook, a coat of mail, and my ironing board."

"You'd better take a chamber pot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he maintained patiently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied blindly. 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 sallied forth nervously out of the office. He stared suddenly after her.

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