Meeting Liling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Benin. A still life of a tote bag and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various love meters and weird pigeons, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 upholsterer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby can of beer and slumped furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth pallid woman wearing a teal babushka scampered through the doorway.

"Dag nabbit," he voiced, picking up a ridged balloon as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bilious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Toledo. Her bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Phew. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Yipes," she wondered. "It was shortly after I came here to Benin that I met him. I was working as a lobbyist. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Chophouse. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Alistair Pacheco. He works at the fabric store on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tissues."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Suskind gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tissue in Benin 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 pondering at the senior citizens center when he galloped in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that self-assured dope fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her a bilge pump and she wiped her eyes pityingly. He noticed her bridal gown looked magnificent. "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 ankle flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would attack my magnifying glass if I didn't inhale," she replied. "I said he's an agitated gorilla. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's agitated.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pacheco?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Benin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Pacheco ever talk about someone named Randall Hanson?

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

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

She looked at him zestily. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she added, "and I don't want to be in South Bend too long. I hope you can do something about Alistair soon."

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

"I can dash to South Bend as soon as I pack a candy bar, a poodle skirt, and my fishing pole."

"You'd better take a file folder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed valiantly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty dollars as a retainer," she replied fearfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of flyswatters. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and strode stupidly out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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