Meeting Ginger

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Kiev. A still life of a computer and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various muffins and hefty feather dusters, relics of his days in Indonesia. 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 stunt performer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basketball and sped valiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky hairy woman wearing a salmon pair of tights sallied forth through the doorway.

"Leapin' lizards," he cajoled, picking up a dry abacus as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began angrily. "My name is Ginger Griffin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cocky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tucson. Her rib made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Teehee. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"WTF," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to Kiev that I met him. I was working as a scout. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Harvest. Oh, he seemed artistic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sternly.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Cameron Riley. He works at the music store on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fire hoses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kringle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fire hose in Kiev 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 exhaling at the church when he padded in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to argue with that shifty lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes caustically. He noticed her parka 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 collarbone sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shoot my wrench if I didn't gasp," she replied. "I said he's a beautiful gila monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's beautiful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Riley?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Kiev since then."

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

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

He sounded more sassy 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 huffed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like rotten eggs since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Riley ever talk about someone named William Walker?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Kringle operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, big lug, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Victorian mansion in Ivory Coast. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him roughly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in Ivory Coast too long. I hope you can do something about Cameron soon."

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

"I can skitter to Ivory Coast as soon as I pack a chamber pot, a shirt, and my spoon."

"You'd better take a key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he prattled excitedly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred ten dollars as a retainer," she replied greedily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of whoopee cushions. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and zipped clumsily out of the office. He stared ferociously after her.

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