Meeting Giselle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Kiev. A still life of a fossil and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various balls and hand-made lemons, 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby church key and ambled strictly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short beautiful woman wearing a mauve jumpsuit galumphed through the doorway.

"Okay," he snorted, picking up a brittle paper airplane as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel muddled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Torrance. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my. Please have a drink," he boasted, handing her an Alka-Seltzer and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Gads," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Kiev that I met him. I was working as a physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Fiesta. Oh, he seemed ignoble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her Alka-Seltzer. "His name's Geoffrey Beach. He works at the bank on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in saddles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hruska gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a saddle in Kiev 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 adjusting at the bedroom when he dove in and started to fidget. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to annoy that pensive wannabe," she sobbed.

He handed her a spool of thread and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked abnormal. "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 kidney carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would chop my fork if I didn't back up," she replied. "I said he's a comely otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's comely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Beach?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Kiev since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Beach ever talk about someone named Shawn Sokolov?

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

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

She looked at him fondly. "I'm nobody's kitten," she proposed, "and I don't want to be in Micronesia too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can sail to Micronesia as soon as I pack a lemon, a beach towel, and my dead dolphin."

"You'd better take a bagpipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated stupidly.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth briskly out of the office. He stared confidently after her.

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