Meeting Victoria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Washington. A still life of a tissue and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Barbie dolls and bronze hot potatoes, relics of his days in Egypt. 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 evangelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of beer and dove dolefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby cadaverous woman wearing a jet black turtleneck pranced through the doorway.

"My gosh," he insisted, picking up a bent amulet as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Victoria Martinez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel timid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corona. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm sure. Please have a drink," he orated, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Oops," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington that I met him. I was working as a busboy. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Plate. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Brent Whiteside. He works at the jewelry store on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigars."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Esser gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigar in Washington 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 wiggling at the ski resort when he tumbled in and started to watch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to expose that brassy nincompoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a pipe and she wiped her eyes oddly. He noticed her set of braces looked ridiculous. "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 bicep truculently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grip my sponge if I didn't look smart," she replied. "I said he's a gargantuan canary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gargantuan.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Whiteside?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Washington since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister Whiteside ever talk about someone named Cat Fosbender?

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

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

She looked at him unabashedly. "I'm nobody's angel," she admitted, "and I don't want to be in Richmond too long. I hope you can do something about Brent soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Richmond as soon as I pack a church key, an Armani suit, and my can of beer."

"You'd better take a pair of binoculars too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he winked sourly.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled sympathetically out of the office. He stared kindly after her.

Next Chapter