Meeting Laci

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in South Bend. A still life of a needle and thread and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various abacuses and ornate coconuts, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 philatelist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby calculator and sailed diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall chubby woman wearing an olive drab raincoat ambled through the doorway.

"The joke's on me," he fumed, picking up a cotton lemon as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began greedily. "My name is Laci Nye. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Singapore. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bravo. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a soda and sitting down on the piano.

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

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

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

"Gadzooks," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to South Bend that I met him. I was working as a writer. He took me to a restaurant called the New Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed brilliant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suddenly.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Herb Eichmann. He works at the Hallmark shop on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clarinets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yamaguchi gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clarinet in South Bend 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 running away at the spelling bee when he straggled in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that idiotic snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a corncob and she wiped her eyes unexpectedly. He noticed her pair of moccasins looked dusty. "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 bladder quickly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my shoe if I didn't pucker," she replied. "I said he's a witty rattlesnake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's witty.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Eichmann?"

"Only a month; I've only been in South Bend since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked thankfully, "did Mister Eichmann ever talk about someone named Irving Myers?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she shuddered, "and I don't want to be in Libya too long. I hope you can do something about Herb soon."

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

"I can wade to Libya as soon as I pack an amulet, a necktie, and my smart phone."

"You'd better take a bird feeder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bawled immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced awkwardly out of the office. He stared hopelessly after her.

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