Meeting Gretchen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Tokyo. A still life of a bird feeder and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various nails and gaudy elephant tusks, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 flight attendant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair dryer and sashayed slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny small woman wearing a turquoise class ring crawled through the doorway.

"OMG," he quoted, picking up a porcelain dead camel as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Gretchen Porrello. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel garrulous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hastings. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "@#%#^@%$@!. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Aye," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to Tokyo that I met him. I was working as an executioner. He took me to a restaurant called the Green Feast. Oh, he seemed petulant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pityingly.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Devin Galloza. He works at the music store on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in apples."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lundy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an apple in Tokyo 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 standing by at the rock concert when he swaggered in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that cute jerk," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of chalk and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her pair of Bermuda shorts looked speckled. "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 heart cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pick my rose if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a nervous yak. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nervous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Galloza?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Tokyo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked mysteriously, "did Mister Galloza ever talk about someone named Jesus Matthews?

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

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

She looked at him victoriously. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she professed, "and I don't want to be in Denmark too long. I hope you can do something about Devin soon."

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

"I can stride to Denmark as soon as I pack a statue, a false beard, and my can of soup."

"You'd better take a hacksaw too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he queried madly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-one dollars as a retainer," she replied bravely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pizzas. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and careened gruffly out of the office. He stared majestically after her.

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