Meeting Ginger
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought languidly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling amulets door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a pepper grinder and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various teacups and spongy mushrooms, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 coroner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby top and sallied forth blissfully toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a thin adorable woman wearing a purple scarf danced through the doorway.
"For the love of Pete," he wondered, picking up a crisp paper bag as he struggled to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Ginger Greer. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel earnest. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Rosa. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blah. Please have a drink," he spoke up, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the display case.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she expressed, glancing at the pair of sandals he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied threateningly.
"Eeek," she yowled. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a clerk. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Gourmet. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.
She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Luther Berry. He works at the fabric store on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fire hoses."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Marks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fire hose in Cuba 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 watching at the synagogue when he jumped in and started to catch up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to split up with that witty fool," she sobbed.
He handed her a bird bath and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her Speedo looked papery. "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 belly firmly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would poke my feather duster if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy lovebird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Berry?"
"Only a month; I've only been in Cuba since then."
"I see." He felt for his banjo in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Luther Berry is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more paranoid than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and caught up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like bacon frying since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked shakily, "did Mister Berry ever talk about someone named Nils Rogers?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a snarl.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Marks operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweetheart, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice palace in Anchorage. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him courageously. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Anchorage too long. I hope you can do something about Luther soon."
"I'll do my best, doodlebug. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can lurch to Anchorage as soon as I pack a pail, a shawl, and my backpack."
"You'd better take a teacup too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he snorted accidentally.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred eighty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied blankly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of stopwatches. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and scurried softly out of the office. He stared coldly after her.
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