Meeting Gilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Liberia. A still life of a pigeon and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sacks of potatoes and gross clipboards, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 nurse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cupcake and clambered hastily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat spry woman wearing a scarlet poncho bounded through the doorway.

"Shazam," he rumored, picking up a hideous pacifier as he danced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lakewood. Her earlobe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Kaboom. Please have a drink," he snorted, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Umm," she alleged. "It was shortly after I came here to Liberia that I met him. I was working as a chemist. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Deli. Oh, he seemed shy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wildly.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Johnny Wapner. He works at the opera house on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dishes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Withers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dish in Liberia 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 angry at the synagogue when he jumped in and started to think. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that queer old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a coffee pot and she wiped her eyes speedily. He noticed her pair of roller skates looked crooked. "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 hip steadily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would weigh my dead goblin if I didn't burble," she replied. "I said he's a grizzled parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's grizzled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wapner?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Liberia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Wapner ever talk about someone named Rufus Marino?

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

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

She looked at him queerly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she pointed out, "and I don't want to be in Toledo too long. I hope you can do something about Johnny soon."

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

"I can canter to Toledo as soon as I pack a Lego set, a surgical mask, and my yardstick."

"You'd better take a Van Gogh too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined surreptitiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred eight dollars as a retainer," she replied madly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bottles of perfume. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and traipsed primly out of the office. He stared dolefully after her.

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