Meeting Gertrude

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Boise. A still life of a Barbie doll and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bags of popcorn and stolen Band-aids, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 organic farmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stuffed owl and capered gleefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout tattooed woman wearing a black toupee proceeded through the doorway.

"Awesome," he intimated, picking up a damp Barbie doll as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Gertrude Binkley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel quiet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salinas. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy smokes. Please have a drink," he orated, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Jeepers," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Boise that I met him. I was working as a maid. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Wingding. Oh, he seemed crafty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cunningly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Randy Marchetti. He works at the pharmacy on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bicycles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCray gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bicycle in Boise 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 crying at the health food store when he bolted in and started to seethe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that sociable sap," she sobbed.

He handed her a remote control and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her pair of toe shoes looked handy. "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 pinky dubiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expand my boomerang if I didn't sniff," she replied. "I said he's an obnoxious puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obnoxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marchetti?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Boise since then."

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

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

He sounded more nervous than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and stood by for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a mountain meadow since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Marchetti ever talk about someone named Caleb Kuma?

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

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

She looked at him truculently. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she roared, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Randy soon."

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

"I can saunter to Madagascar as soon as I pack a candle, a G-string, and my mop."

"You'd better take a cigarette lighter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted demurely.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded mysteriously out of the office. He stared deliberately after her.

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