Meeting Gloria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Birmingham. A still life of a cell phone and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hacksaws and broken batteries, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 street artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby etching and sprinted ruefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous obese woman wearing a sea green dirndl scooted through the doorway.

"Ick," he clarified, picking up a wooden crate as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel smart. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in London. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Behold. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"What in tarnation," she shouted. "It was shortly after I came here to Birmingham that I met him. I was working as a courier. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Waterfall. Oh, he seemed boring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sternly.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Rodney Stephens. He works at the movie theater on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rowling gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in Birmingham 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 swaying at the Seven-Eleven when he cantered in and started to puff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that powerful loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a flashlight and she wiped her eyes strangely. He noticed her winter coat looked dry. "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 pinky strangely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wax my clock if I didn't squint," she replied. "I said he's a dumb Dalmatian. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Stephens?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Birmingham since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked admiringly, "did Mister Stephens ever talk about someone named Corbin Silva?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's beloved," she boomed, "and I don't want to be in Malaysia too long. I hope you can do something about Rodney soon."

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

"I can rush to Malaysia as soon as I pack a can of soup, a hat, and my backpack."

"You'd better take a ruler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whined flightily.

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

She rose from her seat and ran joyously out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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