Meeting Laci

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Berkeley. A still life of a rose and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bells and synthetic canes, relics of his days in Greece. 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 bookkeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yo-yo and loped greedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine winsome woman wearing a hot pink Superman costume flew through the doorway.

"Moo," he reacted, picking up a charming iPhone as he inched to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel heavyset. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Prairie. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ultimate. Please have a drink," he snarled, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Omigosh," she boasted. "It was shortly after I came here to Berkeley that I met him. I was working as a network administrator. He took me to a restaurant called the Red House. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Frankie MacGibbon. He works at the souvenir shop on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in trash cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Oldfather gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a trash can in Berkeley 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 laughing at the K-Mart when he slipped in and started to screech. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that bad sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her an ingot of plutonium and she wiped her eyes sheepishly. He noticed her dress looked valuable. "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 mouth nicely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wiggle my battery if I didn't turn blue," she replied. "I said he's a sincere dodo bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sincere.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacGibbon?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Berkeley since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked temperamentally, "did Mister MacGibbon ever talk about someone named Shamus Frankowitz?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she opined, "and I don't want to be in Micronesia too long. I hope you can do something about Frankie soon."

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

"I can storm to Micronesia as soon as I pack a clothespin, a mask, and my key ring."

"You'd better take a rope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bellowed gingerly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove urgently out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

Next Chapter