Meeting Gina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in London. A still life of a stopwatch and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stopwatches and frilly candy canes, relics of his days in Austria. 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 errand runner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby model airplane and slunk wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky sprightly woman wearing a mauve poodle skirt sailed through the doorway.

"Darn," he groveled, picking up a porcelain potato as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began warily. "My name is Gina Kaiser. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chula Vista. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Behold. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

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

"Kaboom," she sobbed. "It was shortly after I came here to London that I met him. I was working as a composer. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Landfill. Oh, he seemed witty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Garrick Appleby. He works at the boutique on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of fuzzy dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Spencer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of fuzzy dice in London 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 burping at the laundromat when he paraded in and started to cheer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that deadly wimp," she sobbed.

He handed her an eyelash curler and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her sport coat looked woven. "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 recklessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would abuse my radio if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a serious pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's serious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Appleby?"

"Only a century; I've only been in London since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wearily, "did Mister Appleby ever talk about someone named Rock Marsden?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Soweto too long. I hope you can do something about Garrick soon."

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

"I can barrel to Soweto as soon as I pack a clothespin, a pair of cowboy boots, and my corsage."

"You'd better take a coin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he argued later.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied properly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of crates. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and staggered suspiciously out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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