Meeting Gillian

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a can of beans and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various guns and flaky teapots, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 gemcutter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby comb and sped sagely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby youthful woman wearing a polka dotted sundress swung through the doorway.

"Kazow," he bawled, picking up a disgusting fingernail clipper as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began testily. "My name is Gillian Wales. 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 Boulder. Her nostril made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alrighty-roo. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Granular," she yelled. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as an X-ray technician. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Kitchen. Oh, he seemed homely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crossly.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Rocket Pavlov. He works at the office supply store on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hubcaps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carroll gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hubcap in Lincoln 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 breathing at the orchestra concert when he barrelled in and started to meditate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to judge that nonchalant loon," she sobbed.

He handed her a baton and she wiped her eyes ruefully. He noticed her stovepipe hat looked fuzzy. "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 foot angrily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would throw my clothespin if I didn't come to," she replied. "I said he's a frantic gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pavlov?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Lincoln since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blindly, "did Mister Pavlov ever talk about someone named Arnold DeGraff?

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

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

She looked at him woefully. "I'm nobody's turtle dove," she avowed, "and I don't want to be in Nepal too long. I hope you can do something about Rocket soon."

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

"I can walk to Nepal as soon as I pack a flowerpot, a shirt, and my ruler."

"You'd better take a dead pelican too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rationalized proudly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred seventy-nine dollars as a retainer," she replied languidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of sea shells. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted haughtily out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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