Meeting Riley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Illinois. A still life of an umbrella and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various elephant tusks and hand-carved toys, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 mediator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coat hanger and dove carelessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat sleek woman wearing a crimson leotard dashed through the doorway.

"Isht," he rambled, picking up a ridiculous blanket as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began immediately. "My name is Riley Darnell. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bilious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chandler. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get out. Please have a drink," he belched, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Mommy," she vouched. "It was shortly after I came here to Illinois that I met him. I was working as an investment banker. He took me to a restaurant called the Silk Lounge. Oh, he seemed bald enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected properly.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Garrick Banks. He works at the candy store on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pumpkins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Craig gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pumpkin in Illinois 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 playing Duck Duck Goose at the Seven-Eleven when he capered in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to confuse that calm pook," she sobbed.

He handed her a pipe and she wiped her eyes mysteriously. He noticed her flak jacket looked crooked. "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 forehead glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would propel my feather duster if I didn't sit still," she replied. "I said he's an apoplectic lion. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's apoplectic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Banks?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Illinois since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dreamily, "did Mister Banks ever talk about someone named Hugh Gore?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's hon," she requested, "and I don't want to be in St. Petersburg too long. I hope you can do something about Garrick soon."

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

"I can slip to St. Petersburg as soon as I pack a hat, a gorilla suit, and my flute."

"You'd better take an ice cream cone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed effortlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred seventeen dollars as a retainer," she replied pitifully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of coat check tickets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and struggled excitedly out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

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