Meeting Geraldine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Liechtenstein. A still life of a magnet and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various sponges and soft horseshoes, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 crime scene investigator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cowbell and ambled delicately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender sorrowful woman wearing a metallic red crab costume climbed through the doorway.

"Okay," he continued, picking up a sophisticated top as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began resignedly. "My name is Geraldine Speer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disgusting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mumbai. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Weird. Please have a drink," he grunted, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Son of a Baptist preacher," she simpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Liechtenstein that I met him. I was working as a calligrapher. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Platter. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected timidly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Jess Melville. He works at the storage unit on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in telephones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mann gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a telephone in Liechtenstein 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 frazzled at the orchestra concert when he waddled in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shave that brash bonehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her corsage looked hard. "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 palm timidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would admire my piece of candy if I didn't howl," she replied. "I said he's a noble dormouse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Melville?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Liechtenstein since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Melville ever talk about someone named Allan Romer?

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

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

She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Miami too long. I hope you can do something about Jess soon."

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

"I can sprint to Miami as soon as I pack a flashlight, a tarboosh, and my key ring."

"You'd better take a stopwatch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he joked narrowly.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered tenderly out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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