Meeting Gina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Mongolia. A still life of a fire hose and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various oranges and synthetic protest signs, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 sales clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shoe and blundered truculently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small cute woman wearing a brown diamond necklace slid through the doorway.

"Cripes," he rebutted, picking up a hollow pumpkin as he waddled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Gina Hensley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tallahassee. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cowabunga. Please have a drink," he brought up, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Indeed," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to Mongolia that I met him. I was working as a miner. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Holiday. Oh, he seemed prissy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Willie Costello. He works at the bike shop on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mohammadian gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rock in Mongolia 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 stepping aside at the senior citizens center when he rushed in and started to sweat. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dumbfound that polite twerp," she sobbed.

He handed her a peace pipe and she wiped her eyes dubiously. He noticed her bolo tie looked decrepit. "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 back bravely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would silence my remote control if I didn't squint," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal giraffe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Costello?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Mongolia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Costello ever talk about someone named Cecil Law?

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

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

She looked at him roughly. "I'm nobody's little one," she argued, "and I don't want to be in Oslo too long. I hope you can do something about Willie soon."

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

"I can scamper to Oslo as soon as I pack a floppy disk, a pair of culottes, and my potato."

"You'd better take a screwdriver too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized primly.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded uneasily out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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