Meeting Gretchen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Sapporo. A still life of an egg shell and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various darts and striking coins, relics of his days in France. 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 firefighter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of chalk and reeled strictly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated bald woman wearing an azure pair of safety glasses clambered through the doorway.

"Ulp," he muttered, picking up a sophisticated cream puff as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began steadily. "My name is Gretchen Kong. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel insane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Miami. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now we're talking. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Incredible," she boasted. "It was shortly after I came here to Sapporo that I met him. I was working as a banker. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Garden. Oh, he seemed spunky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected later.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Demetrius Greybottom. He works at the drug store on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in curling irons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Aguilar gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a curling iron in Sapporo 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 getting dizzy at the tanning salon when he bounded in and started to daydream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that brash barbarian," she sobbed.

He handed her a muffin and she wiped her eyes reluctantly. He noticed her dress looked curved. "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 brain proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would inflate my washrag if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a frumpy burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frumpy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greybottom?"

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

He sounded more ambitious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little finger 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 an ashtray since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked repeatedly, "did Mister Greybottom ever talk about someone named Maximilian Ecklund?

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

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

She looked at him urgently. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she pronounced, "and I don't want to be in Malawi too long. I hope you can do something about Demetrius soon."

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

"I can gallop to Malawi as soon as I pack a primrose, a set of dentures, and my notebook."

"You'd better take a flyswatter too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred fondly.

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

She rose from her seat and crept sheepishly out of the office. He stared awkwardly after her.

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