Meeting Leila

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Lubbock. A still life of a china doll and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various iPods and striped spinning wheels, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 factory worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bottle of perfume and careened timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated pale woman wearing a rose tinfoil hat slid through the doorway.

"Gotta love it," he analyzed, picking up a queer iPhone as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began softly. "My name is Leila Ali. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brash. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salt Lake City. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why not?. Please have a drink," he vouched, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Very interesting," she gabbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lubbock that I met him. I was working as a radio announcer. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Tiger. Oh, he seemed gargantuan enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warmly.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Dean Chu. He works at the psychic reading business on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in crystal balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Broghammer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a crystal ball in Lubbock 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 daydreaming at the health food store when he strolled in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fry that dismal knucklehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a tote bag and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her coat looked hard. "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 ego briskly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pick my paper bag if I didn't come over," she replied. "I said he's a sociable beetle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sociable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Chu?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Lubbock since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Chu ever talk about someone named Clifton Gutierrez?

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

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

She looked at him excitedly. "I'm nobody's gumdrop," she burbled, "and I don't want to be in Moscow too long. I hope you can do something about Dean soon."

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

"I can dart to Moscow as soon as I pack an ingot of plutonium, a sport coat, and my stamp."

"You'd better take a teapot too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he comforted truculently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied woodenly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pencil sharpeners. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slunk lightly out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

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