Meeting Griselda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Charleston. A still life of a cane and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various protest signs and miniature Hostess Ding Dongs, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 civil servant, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peanut and went vacantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely delicate woman wearing a white uniform tore through the doorway.

"Never," he judged, picking up a stuffed vacuum cleaner as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Griselda Holiday. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleek. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Winston-Salem. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wow. Please have a drink," he admitted, handing her a soda and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Piffle," she rebutted. "It was shortly after I came here to Charleston that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Delicatessen. Oh, he seemed decent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grandly.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Maloney Vickers. He works at the sandwich shop on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cairns gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box in Charleston 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 looking puzzled at the church when he stalked in and started to lie around in bed. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that sketchy 'noying," she sobbed.

He handed her a towel and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her pair of moon boots looked porcelain. "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 throat craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shred my nail if I didn't sleep," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vickers?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Charleston since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked boisterously, "did Mister Vickers ever talk about someone named Borat Yoshida?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's snookums," she urged, "and I don't want to be in Santa Fe too long. I hope you can do something about Maloney soon."

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

"I can traipse to Santa Fe as soon as I pack a billfold, an award medal, and my Lego set."

"You'd better take a gun too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squawked menacingly.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded dolefully out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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