Meeting Griselda
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought ferociously. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling maps door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a Bunsen burner and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various corncobs and gigantic pieces of chalk, relics of his days in Japan. 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 hoarder, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby washrag and sashayed urgently toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a chubby eye-catching woman wearing a navy blue pair of combat boots sailed through the doorway.
"Fine," he appealed, picking up a weird spool of thread as he paraded to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began obediently. "My name is Griselda Biggs. 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 Brownsville. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Um. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the settee.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she blustered, glancing at the mask he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied nervously.
"Shiver me timbers," she disputed. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as an oboist. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Forest. Oh, he seemed rugged enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected peevishly.
She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Richard Austin. He works at the nail salon on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in firecrackers."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Marx gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a firecracker in Kuwait 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 getting upset at the disco when he sidled in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that ungainly dweeb," she sobbed.
He handed her a hair brush and she wiped her eyes boisterously. He noticed her robe looked ridiculous. "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 throat tenderly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would stash my coconut if I didn't grunt," she replied. "I said he's a careful whale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Austin?"
"Only a year; I've only been in Kuwait since then."
"I see." He felt for his musket in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Richard Austin is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more artistic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his nose like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and seethed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smelling salts since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked recklessly, "did Mister Austin ever talk about someone named Lawrence Costello?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a fist bump.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Marx operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, queenie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice dugout in Laos. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's queenie," she mouthed, "and I don't want to be in Laos too long. I hope you can do something about Richard soon."
"I'll do my best, sweet. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can scurry to Laos as soon as I pack a cowbell, a jerkin, and my tennis racket."
"You'd better take a coin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued nicely.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred eighty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied lazily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of egg shells. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and staggered confidently out of the office. He stared quietly after her.
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