Meeting Hildegarde

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Warsaw. A still life of a baseball and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various feathers and tiny magnets, relics of his days in Saudi Arabia. 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 priest, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby umbrella and jumped innocently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite sleek woman wearing a sparkly coonskin hat sailed through the doorway.

"Big whoop," he spewed, picking up a tiny computer as he careened to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began merrily. "My name is Hildegarde Gross. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in London. Her nostril made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why. Please have a drink," he suggested, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Good gravy," she purred. "It was shortly after I came here to Warsaw that I met him. I was working as a guitarist. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Fortress. Oh, he seemed stubby enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Vince Zwiebel. He works at the restaurant 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 Childs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hat in Warsaw 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 gasping at the spelling bee when he padded in and started to tremble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to date that big imbecile," she sobbed.

He handed her a Bible and she wiped her eyes dolefully. He noticed her romper looked broken. "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 pituitary gland deliberately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would face my ball if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's a coy zebra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zwiebel?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Warsaw since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Zwiebel ever talk about someone named Damien Thurston?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's sweet," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Rio too long. I hope you can do something about Vince soon."

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

"I can hobble to Rio as soon as I pack a bucket, a tuxedo, and my artificial flower."

"You'd better take a pair of knitting needles too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered elatedly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred nine dollars as a retainer," she replied deftly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Egyptian mummies. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and tramped glumly out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

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