Meeting Gabriela

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Rome. A still life of a stick and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cans of beer and excellent hacksaws, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 psychic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chair and bolted steadily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal blond woman wearing a brilliant orange shawl sallied forth through the doorway.

"Phew," he croaked, picking up a gooey fingernail clipper as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shyly. "My name is Gabriela Rand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Abilene. Her thorax made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yes. Please have a drink," he drawled, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Great Jehosaphat," she griped. "It was shortly after I came here to Rome that I met him. I was working as a McDonald's fry-cook. He took me to a restaurant called London Dynasty. Oh, he seemed haggard enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wryly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Calvin Barber. He works at the police station on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tissues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCarthy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tissue in Rome 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 exhaling at the city park when he ambled in and started to calculate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stump that grizzled nincompoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of candy and she wiped her eyes despondently. He noticed her pair of dentures looked crisp. "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 ruefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tickle my toilet seat if I didn't throw up," she replied. "I said he's a peculiar swan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's peculiar.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barber?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked demurely, "did Mister Barber ever talk about someone named Dakota Bonner?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him steadily. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Newark too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can slide to Newark as soon as I pack a helmet, a pair of earrings, and my can of shaving cream."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he roared deftly.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled stupidly out of the office. He stared offhandedly after her.

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