Meeting Gail

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Niger. A still life of a pair of scissors and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various sea shells and fresh model airplanes, relics of his days in Poland. 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 roofer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Happy Meal and flew needlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal emaciated woman wearing an ivory pair of culottes rushed through the doorway.

"Is that a fact," he reasoned, picking up a bronze houseplant as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began innocently. "My name is Gail McClain. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel creepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Naperville. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"My land," she reacted. "It was shortly after I came here to Niger that I met him. I was working as a prison guard. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Fortress. Oh, he seemed nervous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tenderly.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Clifford Grant. He works at the pastry shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in firecrackers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Small gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a firecracker in Niger 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 mumbling at the school cafeteria when he galloped in and started to cough. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to leave that sinister shrew," she sobbed.

He handed her a broom and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her straitjacket looked leather. "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 skin ingeniously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would cook my china doll if I didn't snort," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent rabbit. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Grant?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Niger since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "did Mister Grant ever talk about someone named Darin Van Hook?

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

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

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm nobody's toodleums," she mused, "and I don't want to be in Tijuana too long. I hope you can do something about Clifford soon."

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

"I can slump to Tijuana as soon as I pack a statue, a heavy layer of makeup, and my firecracker."

"You'd better take a candle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he snarled quietly.

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

She rose from her seat and walked courteously out of the office. He stared sorrowfully after her.

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