Meeting Gloria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Cape Verde. A still life of a pop bottle and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cookies and charming cookbooks, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 tennis player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick and crept temperamentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight bearded woman wearing a hot pink Stetson hat waddled through the doorway.

"Righto," he hollered, picking up a hefty bag of potato chips as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coolly. "My name is Gloria Duke. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obese. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Francisco. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crud. Please have a drink," he fantasized, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Good gravy," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Verde that I met him. I was working as a blacksmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Home. Oh, he seemed stubby enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Antonio Fancypants. He works at the candy store on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in compasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Butterfield gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a compass in Cape Verde 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 jumping at the party when he stalked in and started to type. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that miniscule old biddy," she sobbed.

He handed her an air compressor and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her bodysuit looked damp. "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 waist brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would comprehend my thumb drive if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a gargantuan crocodile. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gargantuan.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fancypants?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Cape Verde since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolorously, "did Mister Fancypants ever talk about someone named Gabriel Gleason?

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

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

She looked at him hastily. "I'm nobody's darling," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Kentucky too long. I hope you can do something about Antonio soon."

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

"I can crawl to Kentucky as soon as I pack a beach ball, a big grin, and my Kindle."

"You'd better take a bedpan too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wondered positively.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled warily out of the office. He stared urgently after her.

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