Meeting Ying

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Manchester. A still life of a can of sardines and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bells and hefty pieces of paper, relics of his days in Haiti. 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 composer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby abacus and flew despondently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious pimply woman wearing a crimson denim skirt jogged through the doorway.

"Bleep," he screamed, picking up a smelly skull as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Ying Romano. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cheerful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Green Bay. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Idiot. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

"This is difficult for me," she grieved, glancing at the pair of cycling shorts he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Shoo," she taunted. "It was shortly after I came here to Manchester that I met him. I was working as an investment banker. He took me to a restaurant called Madrid House of Delights. Oh, he seemed heavyset enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nicely.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Dillon Romer. He works at the flower shop on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in accordions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Manley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an accordion in Manchester 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 partying at the laundromat when he tiptoed in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to indoctrinate that thoughtful nerd," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her Speedo looked luxurious. "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 pride brightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would probe my pumpkin if I didn't wobble," she replied. "I said he's a decisive ostrich. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decisive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Romer?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked rapidly, "did Mister Romer ever talk about someone named Terence Grady?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Manley 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 hotel in Mexico. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's princess," she sputtered, "and I don't want to be in Mexico too long. I hope you can do something about Dillon soon."

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

"I can sneak to Mexico as soon as I pack an advertisement, a pair of nylons, and my abacus."

"You'd better take an arrowhead too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he smiled doubtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed briskly out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

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