Meeting Gilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Casablanca. A still life of a trash can and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various brochures and crisp rocks, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 drunkard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rag and marched suspiciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight blond woman wearing an aquamarine space suit zoomed through the doorway.

"Yep," he inquired, picking up a huge iPod as he lurched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel dependable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belgrade. Her little toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "In your dreams. Please have a drink," he protested, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Shiver me timbers," she acknowledged. "It was shortly after I came here to Casablanca that I met him. I was working as an actor. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful Temple. Oh, he seemed enthusiastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected threateningly.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Justin Sibley. He works at the bus station on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boomerangs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dupont gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a boomerang in Casablanca 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 belching at the disco when he tramped in and started to calculate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stare at that spindly culprit," she sobbed.

He handed her a pen and she wiped her eyes energetically. He noticed her class ring looked gross. "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 shin delicately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my rubber stamp if I didn't jiggle," she replied. "I said he's a smart bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's smart.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sibley?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Casablanca since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Sibley ever talk about someone named Stanley Peters?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him urgently. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Sri Lanka too long. I hope you can do something about Justin soon."

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

"I can caper to Sri Lanka as soon as I pack a roll of duct tape, a rain coat, and my pail."

"You'd better take a rope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mouthed testily.

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

She rose from her seat and leapt coolly out of the office. He stared proudly after her.

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