Meeting Queenie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in West Virginia. A still life of a pair of knitting needles and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bugles and slimy clocks, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 court jester, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basketball and tumbled blankly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump thin woman wearing a brown pair of boxer shorts proceeded through the doorway.

"Indeed," he moaned, picking up a polished candy cane as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began arrogantly. "My name is Queenie Case. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bogotá. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bullpuckey. Please have a drink," he instructed, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Is that a fact," she suggested. "It was shortly after I came here to West Virginia that I met him. I was working as a graphic designer. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Barn. Oh, he seemed queer enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Gabe Riley. He works at the electronics store on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in comic books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frinklehofer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a comic book in West Virginia 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 chattering at the bagel shop when he sashayed in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that crafty boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a feather duster and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her tailcoat looked fresh. "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 languidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would whip my artificial flower if I didn't back down," she replied. "I said he's a creepy peacock. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's creepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Riley?"

"Only a day; I've only been in West Virginia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Riley ever talk about someone named René Quinlan?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's flower," she acknowledged, "and I don't want to be in Niger too long. I hope you can do something about Gabe soon."

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

"I can creep to Niger as soon as I pack a cowbell, a pair of ear muffs, and my chain."

"You'd better take a box of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he howled softly.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked neatly out of the office. He stared fiercely after her.

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