Meeting Hilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a cactus plant and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of binoculars and primitive coat hangers, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 court reporter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby diary and sped warily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous gaunt woman wearing a maroon midi skirt sailed through the doorway.

"Teehee," he cajoled, picking up a queer balloon as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shyly. "My name is Hilda Thompson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbus. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bah. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Tarnation," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a taxi driver. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Bowl. Oh, he seemed haughty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Gerald Pence. He works at the electronics store on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Castaneda gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in Egypt 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 groaning at the bedroom when he slunk in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stun that difficult fanatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a broom and she wiped her eyes breathlessly. He noticed her lab coat looked huge. "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 piehole hysterically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would yank my helmet if I didn't turn blue," she replied. "I said he's a loving ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pence?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Egypt 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 Gerald Pence is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked speedily, "did Mister Pence ever talk about someone named Jeremy Harrison?

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

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's Pinky," she accused, "and I don't want to be in Colombia too long. I hope you can do something about Gerald soon."

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

"I can traipse to Colombia as soon as I pack a dart, a surgical mask, and my bat."

"You'd better take a muffin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled excitedly.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered smoothly out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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