Meeting Bonita

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Pennsylvania. A still life of a dictionary and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various toothbrushes and old playing cards, relics of his days in Bolivia. 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 nurse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stack of papers and bolted sternly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic lanky woman wearing a chartreuse moustache tore through the doorway.

"Blah," he recited, picking up a torn vase as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began elatedly. "My name is Bonita Lancaster. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubby. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fribblenootums. Please have a drink," he piped up, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Knock me over with a feather," she snarled. "It was shortly after I came here to Pennsylvania that I met him. I was working as a web guru. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Coffee Shop. Oh, he seemed funny enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suspiciously.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Irving Gilmore. He works at the travel agency on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of ice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of ice in Pennsylvania 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 grimacing at the beach when he dove in and started to yawn. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to exclude that self-assured rapscallion," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper bag and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her toga looked used. "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 leg unabashedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prune my napkin if I didn't tread water," she replied. "I said he's a direct shrew. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gilmore?"

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

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

"Okay, so this Irving Gilmore 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 waist like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and snuffled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Elizabeth Arden since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lamely, "did Mister Gilmore ever talk about someone named Abe Wooten?

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

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

She looked at him courageously. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she taunted, "and I don't want to be in Lima too long. I hope you can do something about Irving soon."

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

"I can swagger to Lima as soon as I pack a false beard, a suit, and my rubber stamp."

"You'd better take a playing card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grunted thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded gracefully out of the office. He stared grudgingly after her.

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