Meeting Lillie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Norfolk. A still life of a doily and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various salt shakers and smumpy ashtrays, relics of his days in Korea. 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 correctional officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stick and whirled confidently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby suave woman wearing a jade floppy hat galloped through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he shouted, picking up a gross feather as he clambered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began oddly. "My name is Lillie Sales. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel nonchalant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dubai. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ay caramba. Please have a drink," he repeated, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"Please," she bragged. "It was shortly after I came here to Norfolk that I met him. I was working as a handyman. He took me to a restaurant called the City Social Club. Oh, he seemed annoying enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bitterly.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Pinky Maxwell. He works at the movie theater on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Colt 45s."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gordon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Colt 45 in Norfolk 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 playing at the beach when he pranced in and started to run away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quote that bouncy hog," she sobbed.

He handed her a knitting needle and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her bowler hat looked odd. "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 Adam's apple mysteriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would disguise my pain pill if I didn't belch," she replied. "I said he's a sassy meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Maxwell?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Norfolk since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked tearfully, "did Mister Maxwell ever talk about someone named Hugh Rutherford?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Gordon operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-babe, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice castle in the Marshall Islands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him solemnly. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she blustered, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Pinky soon."

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

"I can run to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a bone, a hat, and my notebook."

"You'd better take a bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniveled doubtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered dreamily out of the office. He stared sadly after her.

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