Meeting Vera

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Louisiana. A still life of a bucket and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various guns and wet pain pills, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 prosecutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby barbell and careened confidently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall adorable woman wearing a brilliant orange bow tie stormed through the doorway.

"Gee whiz," he boasted, picking up an art deco carrot as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Vera Ellington. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel slimy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Capetown. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I think not. Please have a drink," he maintained, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"There-there," she accused. "It was shortly after I came here to Louisiana that I met him. I was working as a shepherd. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Plate. Oh, he seemed brash enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fondly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Ronald Gill. He works at the music store on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Berry gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of dice in Louisiana 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 belching at the laundromat when he scooted in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to train that perky laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather duster and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her Superman costume looked cheap. "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 liver accidentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clean my banana if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's a desperate unicorn. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's desperate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gill?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Louisiana since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Gill ever talk about someone named Dax Ashe?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Berry operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mi amor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Spanish colonial in St. Petersburg. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him intensely. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she rationalized, "and I don't want to be in St. Petersburg too long. I hope you can do something about Ronald soon."

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

"I can go to St. Petersburg as soon as I pack a chart, an Armani suit, and my jar of olives."

"You'd better take a hat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped temperamentally.

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

She rose from her seat and darted hastily out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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