Meeting Gabriela

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a toy and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fossils and flaky floppy disks, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 rubbish collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of headphones and scurried swiftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky olive woman wearing an ivory balaclava marched through the doorway.

"Bam," he asserted, picking up a greasy orange as he walked to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Thornton. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ouch. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Doubtful," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as an X-ray technician. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Cuisine. Oh, he seemed garrulous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Bert Eriksson. He works at the haberdashery on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in helmets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hamilton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a helmet in Fort Worth 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 wincing at the bookstore when he climbed in and started to barf. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to heckle that quiet tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a piano and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her locket looked large. "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 blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hammer my towel if I didn't quiver," she replied. "I said he's a crazy bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's crazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eriksson?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Eriksson ever talk about someone named Devin Falcon?

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

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

She looked at him miserably. "I'm nobody's friend," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Italy too long. I hope you can do something about Bert soon."

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

"I can march to Italy as soon as I pack a baby doll, a pair of glasses, and my corncob."

"You'd better take an etching too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he implored kindly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened gingerly out of the office. He stared truculently after her.

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