Meeting Gillian

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Washington DC. A still life of a chamber pot and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various yardsticks and rare cigarette lighters, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 government agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bone and proceeded awkwardly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth lanky woman wearing an aquamarine Armani suit padded through the doorway.

"Sure," he hollered, picking up an archaic notepad as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hungrily. "My name is Gillian Remington. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel slimy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Krakow. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "That's crazy talk. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Aye," she bragged. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington DC that I met him. I was working as a crane operator. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Castle. Oh, he seemed amiable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected thankfully.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Horace MacKenzie. He works at the pub on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hubcaps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Romano gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hubcap in Washington DC 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 creeping at the wine tasting when he proceeded in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to charm that polite lubberly lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a cigar and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously. He noticed her pair of culottes looked flaky. "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 jaw dreamily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stab my plaque if I didn't exhale," she replied. "I said he's a selfish gorilla. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacKenzie?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Washington DC since then."

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

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

He sounded more grizzled than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his belly button like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and yelled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fingernail polish remover since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister MacKenzie ever talk about someone named Tex Case?

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

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

She looked at him hopefully. "I'm nobody's sparky," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Bhutan too long. I hope you can do something about Horace soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Bhutan as soon as I pack a smart phone, a poncho, and my candy bar."

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

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

She rose from her seat and waded coolly out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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