Meeting Lily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in California. A still life of a bagpipe and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various spittoons and large baby dolls, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 butler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dead ghost and blundered suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine brown-eyed woman wearing a tan G-string flounced through the doorway.

"Boo," he squealed, picking up a polished bottle of painkillers as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Lily Moore. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belgrade. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For heaven's sake. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Whoa," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to California that I met him. I was working as a tutor. He took me to a restaurant called Western Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Anton Rivera. He works at the antique store on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balloons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Diaz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a balloon in California 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 quivering at the day care center when he hobbled in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that big simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a nail and she wiped her eyes carelessly. He noticed her bandana looked important. "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 hand impatiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crack my sponge if I didn't ponder," she replied. "I said he's a selfish mink. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rivera?"

"Only a century; I've only been in California since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked flightily, "did Mister Rivera ever talk about someone named Manfred Strait?

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

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

She looked at him ingeniously. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she decided, "and I don't want to be in Tallahassee too long. I hope you can do something about Anton soon."

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

"I can hop to Tallahassee as soon as I pack an acorn, a garland, and my Band-aid."

"You'd better take a hot potato too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yammered viciously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred thirty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied roughly. 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 clambered uneasily out of the office. He stared mysteriously after her.

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