Meeting Valerie

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought unnaturally. 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 fourth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a fossil and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various church keys and magnificent remote controls, relics of his days in Peru. 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 watchmaker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of paper and tumbled gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe bald woman wearing a jade corset slumped through the doorway.

"Hell's bells," he mused, picking up a gaudy dollar bill as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tegucigalpa. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Stoked. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Grody to the max," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a banker. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Express. Oh, he seemed witty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cruelly.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Lance Valentine. He works at the pharmacy on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencil sharpeners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lancaster gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil sharpener in Cuba 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 wailing at the poetry reading when he breezed in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to befuddle that dark dumbbell," she sobbed.

He handed her a hair brush and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her cocktail dress looked papery. "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 thyroid gland hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would probe my candy cane if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's an artistic cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Valentine?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Cuba since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Valentine ever talk about someone named Ahmed Lombardi?

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

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

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she pleaded, "and I don't want to be in Rio too long. I hope you can do something about Lance soon."

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

"I can sneak to Rio as soon as I pack a duffel bag, a dirndl, and my dollar bill."

"You'd better take a sea shell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he said vigorously.

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

She rose from her seat and crept shyly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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