Meeting Liling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Birmingham. A still life of a baby doll and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various brushes and plastic bagpipes, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 juggler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cupcake and trekked hungrily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf well-built woman wearing an amber Hawaiian shirt traipsed through the doorway.

"Absolutely," he roared, picking up a striped houseplant as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began mysteriously. "My name is Liling Portwine. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belgrade. Her heart made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Mommy. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Bless your heart," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Birmingham that I met him. I was working as a boat captain. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Inn. Oh, he seemed amiable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected numbly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Stuart Gagné. He works at the Starbucks on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in avocados."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hruska gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an avocado in Birmingham 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 rocking at the radio station when he marched in and started to wander. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to text that obese gump," she sobbed.

He handed her a protest sign and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her vest looked hideous. "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 thigh furiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would honor my can of shaving cream if I didn't blow up," she replied. "I said he's a funny reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's funny.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gagné?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked shyly, "did Mister Gagné ever talk about someone named Muerto Price?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a wag of the finger.

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she gasped, "and I don't want to be in Lexington too long. I hope you can do something about Stuart soon."

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

"I can sail to Lexington as soon as I pack a hand puppet, a feather boa, and my whoopee cushion."

"You'd better take a Happy Meal too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chimed impatiently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred sixty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied reluctantly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of boxes of Kleenex. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and tore nervously out of the office. He stared hastily after her.

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