Meeting Georgina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Peru. A still life of a hockey puck and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various notepads and bulky paperweights, relics of his days in Japan. 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 coroner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paintbrush and flew hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby tan woman wearing a grey winter coat galloped through the doorway.

"Hey," he avowed, picking up a stuffed hubcap as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began brashly. "My name is Georgina Gross. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dreadful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tunis. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he burbled, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

"This is difficult for me," she begged, glancing at the pair of flip-flops he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"By all the saints," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Peru that I met him. I was working as a boat captain. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Drive-In. Oh, he seemed unruffled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Russ McDermott. He works at the saloon on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spinning wheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oswald gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spinning wheel in Peru 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 cringing at the orchestra concert when he leapt in and started to sniffle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that fiendish dodo," she sobbed.

He handed her a coffee pot and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her trench coat looked damp. "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 hangnail fondly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smash my sack of potatoes if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a wicked baboon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wicked.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McDermott?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nervously, "did Mister McDermott ever talk about someone named Rich Valentine?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she chortled, "and I don't want to be in Glendale too long. I hope you can do something about Russ soon."

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

"I can reel to Glendale as soon as I pack an apple, a pair of khakis, and my pink flamingo."

"You'd better take a compass too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he decided haughtily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred two dollars as a retainer," she replied automatically. 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 hopped joyously out of the office. He stared dubiously after her.

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