Meeting Gilda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Quebec. A still life of an apple and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various photographs and hand-made duffel bags, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 aeronautical engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teapot and proceeded happily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky good looking woman wearing an amber pair of bloomers ambled through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he sniped, picking up a speckled fishing rod as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blankly. "My name is Gilda Thompson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel decent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Buenos Aires. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Loopers. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Grrrrr," she trumpeted. "It was shortly after I came here to Quebec that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Holiday. Oh, he seemed cruel enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Franklin Ortmann. He works at the bike shop on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corsages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Benson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corsage in Quebec 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 jerking at the tattoo parlor when he walked in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that affable monster," she sobbed.

He handed her an egg shell and she wiped her eyes gruffly. He noticed her pair of ear muffs looked ruined. "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 buttocks sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roll my stuffed owl if I didn't purr," she replied. "I said he's an articulate dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's articulate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ortmann?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Quebec 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 Franklin Ortmann is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked wearily, "did Mister Ortmann ever talk about someone named Zachary O'Connor?

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

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

She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's sugar," she taunted, "and I don't want to be in Belize too long. I hope you can do something about Franklin soon."

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

"I can breeze to Belize as soon as I pack a pail, a pair of roller skates, and my lollipop."

"You'd better take an iPad too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he began woefully.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced courageously out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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