Meeting Giselle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Albania. A still life of an artificial flower and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cookbooks and crooked pairs of binoculars, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 baker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tote bag and darted hopelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard bald woman wearing a striped jumper trotted through the doorway.

"Indeed," he thought, picking up a cheap acorn as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began numbly. "My name is Giselle Murphy. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel precocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kampala. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For Pete's sake. Please have a drink," he sputtered, handing her a cup of hot chocolate and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Excuse me," she jeered. "It was shortly after I came here to Albania that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called Presidential Social Club. Oh, he seemed frightened enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected victoriously.

She stared into her cup of hot chocolate. "His name's Emile Hayashida. He works at the bus station on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in business cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Vintner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a business card in Albania 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 sneering at the synagogue when he tiptoed in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stump that unruffled creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a mop and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her diaper looked overgrown. "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 pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would play with my muffin if I didn't yawn," she replied. "I said he's an apoplectic shark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's apoplectic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hayashida?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Albania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked fiercely, "did Mister Hayashida ever talk about someone named Mason Vigil?

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

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

She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she bawled, "and I don't want to be in Tahiti too long. I hope you can do something about Emile soon."

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

"I can slump to Tahiti as soon as I pack a piano, a pith helmet, and my fish bowl."

"You'd better take a fishhook too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he scoffed greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped sourly out of the office. He stared boldly after her.

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