Free Palindrome by E. Z. Rinsky Page A

fingers.
    â€œWe wanted to ask you about someone,” I say. “Greta Kanter. She hired us and said you referred her.”
    Orange Julius takes a moment to rub his hands through the slick fur on his belly. It sounds like someone squeezing the life from a juicy peach.
    â€œGreta Kanter,” he repeats slowly.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “How do you know her? What’s her deal?”
    â€œGreta . . . I’d forgotten about her . . .” Orange makes a sound that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. “Of course that’s why you’re here. I suppose I do owe you an explanation, Frankie. Her deal, as it appears to me, is simply that she’s a gorgeous kook with more money than—­”
    Orange is seized by a wet cough that doubles him over and makes the bench I’m sitting on quake. He spits something at his feet, takes a moment to recover, then continues.
    â€œExcuse me. More money than God. She arrived at my door a few months ago on some kind of quixotic quest. She wanted to pore through my collections, but for what she wouldn’t tell me. Ordinarily a nonstarter, obviously, but the vixen softened my heart with twenty grand. Cash. Just to look for an hour! So I let her, why not? I had cameras on her anyways in case she tried to steal anything. She came up empty, and as she stormed out, huffing, I thought to give your number, Frankie. Told her maybe you could find whatever she was looking for. Thought I’d do you a favor. You saved me a pretty penny by retrieving those forgers. Never would have hooked you up if I’d known you were gonna share the wealth with this one though.” Orange nods his globe of a head in Courtney’s general direction. “If you two want my advice, I would milk her a bit before politely cutting her loose. I met her briefly, but her aura was singularly off-­putting.”
    The steam fires up, and I realize that my heart is pounding and sweat is pouring from my forehead. I don’t know how long I can handle this; it must be close to two hundred degrees in here. Also Julius’s leg is practically on top of mine, and I’m sitting only inches from his armpit, which smells like there was a chemical spill at the synthetic garlic factory.
    â€œYou didn’t ask what she was looking for?” Courtney asks.
    â€œI’ve told you all I know about her, and truthfully I have no interest in discussing Ms. Kanter further,” Orange replies calmly, then takes in a deep breath of steam. “I was hoping you two had something more interesting for me. But I’d now like to resume my bath in peace. Thank you for the cake and tactful apology. You can show yourselves out.”
    We are in his place of work, surrounded by his employees, unable to breathe, shriveling up like a pair of clams—­we don’t exactly have a lot of leverage here.
    â€œThat cake is worth five figures,” I say.
    â€œI told you what I know,” he says.
    â€œI could throw in another three thousand dollars for you to think about it a little harder.”
    He just laughs bitterly and continues rubbing his paws around his belly and chest, as if confirming that every pore on his body is oozing rancid perspiration.
    â€œFive thousand,” I say. It sounds pathetic coming from my mouth.
    â€œI’m not holding out on you. I told you all I know. Good day, gentlemen. Frankie, best of luck. And Courtney, if you ever interrupt my private bath again, I’ll feed you shards of glass. Leave the cake at the front desk.”
    I can see Courtney’s form shoot up and make for the door, clearly relieved to end this exchange.
    I stand up, admittedly pleased to leave this smelly hellhole, when something clicks. Why did Greta think the tape was here with Orange? I turn back to him.
    â€œWhat do you know about a cassette tape?” I ask.
    Even through the wall of steam between us, I can see Orange’s form