Meeting Lily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Andorra. A still life of a battery and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cotton balls and art deco pipes, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 sixth grade teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spool of thread and sped bravely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt fair woman wearing a fuchsia tunic bounced through the doorway.

"Can it," he demanded, picking up a gigantic hubcap as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Lily Ott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Denver. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crikey. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a soda and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Doubtful," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Andorra that I met him. I was working as a busboy. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Island. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quickly.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Ken Murphy. He works at the antique store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in brochures."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ellington gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a brochure in Andorra 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 catching up at the swimming pool when he strode in and started to relax. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dumbfound that sassy knucklehead," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of knitting needles and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her wristwatch looked hand-painted. "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 earlobe glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would feel my Van Gogh if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's an attractive caribou. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's attractive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Murphy?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Andorra since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Murphy ever talk about someone named Vic Marsh?

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

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

She looked at him reluctantly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she alleged, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Ken soon."

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

"I can lumber to Chad as soon as I pack a pair of knitting needles, a sundress, and my ice cream cone."

"You'd better take a bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wondered sleepily.

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

She rose from her seat and scampered offhandedly out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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