Meeting Gilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Huntsville. A still life of a crate and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various batteries and cheap bananas, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 invalid, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stone and zoomed later toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed brown-eyed woman wearing an olive green bridal gown sneaked through the doorway.

"Whew," he revealed, picking up a slimy toolbox as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began narrowly. "My name is Gilda Zimmer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brassy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her dignity made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he bellowed, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the dresser.

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

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

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

"Remarkable," she offered. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as a convenience store clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Inn. Oh, he seemed enthusiastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Dale Thurston. He works at the opera house on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of sardines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Noonan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of sardines in Huntsville 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 sneezing at the gyro shop when he stormed in and started to shake. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that ignoble snake," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of potato chips and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her fig leaf looked striking. "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 shin menacingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hang my lollipop if I didn't squint," she replied. "I said he's an artistic wolf. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thurston?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Huntsville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Thurston ever talk about someone named Norm Holiday?

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

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

She looked at him deftly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she cried, "and I don't want to be in Nigeria too long. I hope you can do something about Dale soon."

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

"I can skitter to Nigeria as soon as I pack a bag of popcorn, a pair of toe shoes, and my chart."

"You'd better take a pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chuckled carefully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred twenty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied gratefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of snails. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waddled carelessly out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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