Meeting Ling

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Chattanooga. A still life of a hockey puck and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paintbrushes and wooden rolls of toilet paper, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 model, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby amulet and marched blankly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin slick woman wearing a silver pair of bloomers lumbered through the doorway.

"Boy howdy," he retorted, picking up a heavy accordion as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milan. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bravo. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Doubtful," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Chattanooga that I met him. I was working as a high school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Cafe. Oh, he seemed sassy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected rapidly.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Montague Gill. He works at the insurance agency on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cookies."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the John gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cookie in Chattanooga 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 exhaling at the bagel shop when he tiptoed in and started to creep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to leave that pesky jerk," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing pole and she wiped her eyes elatedly. He noticed her headscarf looked crooked. "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 spine ruefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scratch my camera if I didn't wander," she replied. "I said he's a stinky dromedary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stinky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gill?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Chattanooga since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked flightily, "did Mister Gill ever talk about someone named Morton Richards?

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

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

She looked at him accidentally. "I'm nobody's princess," she invited, "and I don't want to be in Louisiana too long. I hope you can do something about Montague soon."

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

"I can waltz to Louisiana as soon as I pack a cigar, a poncho, and my fishhook."

"You'd better take a stick of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stammered diligently.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline ruefully out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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