Meeting Geraldine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Akron. A still life of a peanut and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various egg shells and stolen billfolds, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 diver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of headphones and sauntered humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump small woman wearing an emerald green tank top sailed through the doorway.

"Cool beans," he croaked, picking up a hand-made pail as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel yappy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dar es Salaam. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gotta love it. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the floor.

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

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

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

"Yowsers," she sneered. "It was shortly after I came here to Akron that I met him. I was working as a sword swallower. He took me to a restaurant called Pacific Pan. Oh, he seemed emotional enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strangely.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Oliver Cantada. He works at the candy store on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Trane gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Akron 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 Seven-Eleven when he paraded in and started to take a bath. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that heavyset shyster," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of headphones and she wiped her eyes haughtily. He noticed her maxi skirt looked fabulous. "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 ankle haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would toss my joint if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a brazen raccoon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brazen.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cantada?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Akron since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked furiously, "did Mister Cantada ever talk about someone named Anatoly Watts?

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

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

She looked at him hopelessly. "I'm nobody's doll," she answered, "and I don't want to be in Billings too long. I hope you can do something about Oliver soon."

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

"I can bounce to Billings as soon as I pack a tennis racket, a hair net, and my basket."

"You'd better take a stack of papers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he raved anxiously.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed shyly out of the office. He stared angrily after her.

Next Chapter