Meeting Gilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Rochester. A still life of an elephant tusk and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various candy bars and rancid barbells, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 car salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby brush and danced trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy sprightly woman wearing a sparkly nose ring stormed through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he swore, picking up a peculiar Van Gogh as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cheerfully. "My name is Gilda Piper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Halifax. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Diddly bunk. Please have a drink," he maintained, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

"Don't give it another thought," he replied lickety-split.

"Peachy-keen," she pointed out. "It was shortly after I came here to Rochester that I met him. I was working as a football coach. He took me to a restaurant called the Golden Dynasty. Oh, he seemed melancholic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Zachary Grady. He works at the health food store on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microphones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brontsky gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microphone in Rochester 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 clapping at the orchestra concert when he reeled in and started to get dizzy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that lively shrew," she sobbed.

He handed her a telephone book and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her visor looked gooey. "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 ego hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shellac my bouquet if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a self-assured bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-assured.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grady?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Rochester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked greedily, "did Mister Grady ever talk about someone named Broderick Quill?

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

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

She looked at him steadily. "I'm nobody's pet," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in Prague too long. I hope you can do something about Zachary soon."

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

"I can speed to Prague as soon as I pack a feather duster, a ski mask, and my firecracker."

"You'd better take a helmet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he panted deliberately.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded languidly out of the office. He stared tensely after her.

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