Meeting Martina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Buffalo. A still life of a yo-yo and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various baby dolls and stolen amulets, relics of his days in Sweden. 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 entomologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spider and lumbered firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony spry woman wearing a pea green straitjacket proceeded through the doorway.

"WTF," he chanted, picking up a golden trash can as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began recklessly. "My name is Martina Stephens. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel homely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Florence. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-huh. Please have a drink," he griped, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Kapow," she wept. "It was shortly after I came here to Buffalo that I met him. I was working as a geologist. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Gulch. Oh, he seemed disagreeable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Jared Portwine. He works at the office supply store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bananas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yale gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a banana in Buffalo 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 freaking out at the taco shop when he leapt in and started to burble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to compliment that dapper thug," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes lightly. He noticed her pair of contact lenses looked gaudy. "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 pride oddly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would seize my yo-yo if I didn't back down," she replied. "I said he's an insane gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's insane.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Portwine?"

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

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

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

He sounded more shy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his finger 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 orange spice since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Portwine ever talk about someone named Vinny Steele?

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

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

She looked at him frenetically. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she imitated, "and I don't want to be in Lexington too long. I hope you can do something about Jared soon."

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

"I can whirl to Lexington as soon as I pack a photograph, a bolo tie, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a backpack too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered speedily out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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