Meeting Greta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Manchester. A still life of a grease gun and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tickets and unusual snails, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 maid, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of dice and ran sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious dark woman wearing a navy blue armband sneaked through the doorway.

"No way," he fumed, picking up an immense Frisbee as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began intensely. "My name is Greta Childs. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obese. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cairo. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aaah. Please have a drink," he bragged, handing her a Scotch and soda and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Too much," she fretted. "It was shortly after I came here to Manchester that I met him. I was working as a reporter. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed fearful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coolly.

She stared into her Scotch and soda. "His name's Doc Gunderson. He works at the mortuary on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Zwiebel gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stone in Manchester 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 adjusting at the jail when he lurched in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that freakish rogue," she sobbed.

He handed her a padlock and she wiped her eyes wearily. He noticed her balaclava looked rigid. "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 eyelash swiftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rock my candle if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's an idiotic lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's idiotic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gunderson?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Manchester since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sadly, "did Mister Gunderson ever talk about someone named Tracy Page?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's lover," she chimed, "and I don't want to be in Kansas too long. I hope you can do something about Doc soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Kansas as soon as I pack a crystal ball, a gown, and my Egyptian mummy."

"You'd better take a bagpipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed courteously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred twenty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied offhandedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of trash cans. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ran suddenly out of the office. He stared energetically after her.

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