Meeting Ling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Charlotte. A still life of a beach ball and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flutes and porcelain statues, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 rocket scientist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stamp and scooted arrogantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal ruddy woman wearing a sparkly babushka made a beeline through the doorway.

"Nuts," he cajoled, picking up a new knitting needle as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began menacingly. "My name is Ling Velasquez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel unselfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kiev. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-huh. Please have a drink," he howled, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the piano.

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

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

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

"Praise the Lord," she retorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Charlotte that I met him. I was working as a nun. He took me to a restaurant called Egyptian Magic. Oh, he seemed attractive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected busily.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Vince Zmarzly. He works at the shoe shine booth on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tops."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wells gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a top in Charlotte 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 stretching at the swimming pool when he flounced in and started to swoon. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that relaxed dumbbell," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog biscuit and she wiped her eyes daintily. He noticed her pair of booties looked fuzzy. "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 heart lightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would monitor my paper airplane if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a playful bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's playful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zmarzly?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daintily, "did Mister Zmarzly ever talk about someone named Octavius Prentice?

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

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

She looked at him needlessly. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she chattered, "and I don't want to be in the United Kingdom too long. I hope you can do something about Vince soon."

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

"I can skitter to the United Kingdom as soon as I pack a blanket, a cowboy hat, and my ironing board."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vouched stealthily.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed temperamentally out of the office. He stared charmingly after her.

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