Meeting Gladys

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of an urn and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various toys and tiny carrots, relics of his days in Mexico. 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 distiller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby business card and darted innocently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature scraggly woman wearing a silver watch flounced through the doorway.

"Deranged," he wept, picking up an original calculator as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Gladys Adler. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel unselfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Portland. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless your heart. Please have a drink," he crooned, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Yowee," she rebutted. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a choir director. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Retreat. Oh, he seemed pensive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected perkily.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Morgan Barbee. He works at the tattoo parlor on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in darts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lewis gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dart in St. Paul 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 vomiting at the carnival when he set out in and started to do nothing. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to outrun that fuzzy lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a magnifying glass and she wiped her eyes nicely. He noticed her garland looked grubby. "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 earlobe lovingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bite my vase if I didn't cogitate," she replied. "I said he's an intelligent giraffe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intelligent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barbee?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frenetically, "did Mister Barbee ever talk about someone named Broderick Winger?

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

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

She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she swore, "and I don't want to be in Mumbai too long. I hope you can do something about Morgan soon."

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

"I can leap to Mumbai as soon as I pack an apple, a black belt, and my duffel bag."

"You'd better take a book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he crooned suspiciously.

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

She rose from her seat and rolled violently out of the office. He stared deliberately after her.

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