Meeting Giselle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Akron. A still life of a Happy Meal and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coins and gooey staplers, relics of his days in Algeria. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper airplane and made a beeline gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy little woman wearing a fuchsia bathrobe sped through the doorway.

"Ultimate," he persisted, picking up a puzzling hand puppet as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began curiously. "My name is Giselle Hayes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel menacing. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Alexandria. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ten-four. Please have a drink," he rebutted, handing her a beer and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Eeshk," she realized. "It was shortly after I came here to Akron that I met him. I was working as a scientist. He took me to a restaurant called Western Farmer. Oh, he seemed attractive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her beer. "His name's Alberto Quill. He works at the antique store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hockey pucks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Green gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hockey puck in Akron 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 calming down at the garden when he bolted in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shun that playful punk," she sobbed.

He handed her a campaign sign and she wiped her eyes clumsily. He noticed her suit of armor looked crooked. "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 paw shyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would annoint my Band-aid if I didn't hang around," she replied. "I said he's an obedient finch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obedient.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quill?"

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

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

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

He sounded more absent-minded than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his aorta like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and screeched for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like pipe tobacco since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked deftly, "did Mister Quill ever talk about someone named Lynn Meyer?

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

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

She looked at him nervously. "I'm nobody's mon bébé," she quavered, "and I don't want to be in Macedonia too long. I hope you can do something about Alberto soon."

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

"I can sneak to Macedonia as soon as I pack a crate, a beard, and my feather duster."

"You'd better take a houseplant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted thankfully.

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

She rose from her seat and waddled rapidly out of the office. He stared warily after her.

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