Meeting Lianlin

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

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

The office was cluttered with various bouquets and hard wrenches, relics of his days in Chile. 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 lifeguard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and trotted recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly wizened woman wearing a green class ring pranced through the doorway.

"Quiet," he suggested, picking up a thick flash drive as he blundered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began speedily. "My name is Lianlin Patterson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel furry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Palmdale. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Far out. Please have a drink," he lamented, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Goodness me," she hinted. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a therapist. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed ambitious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's René O'Sullivan. He works at the pub on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fossils."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ortega gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fossil in Brussels 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 squealing at the bagel shop when he slumped in and started to wink. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to transform that pensive snake," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her cloak looked wet. "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 wrist confidently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would lick my antenna if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled bat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. O'Sullivan?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daringly, "did Mister O'Sullivan ever talk about someone named Jack Murphy?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's old bean," she chuckled, "and I don't want to be in Detroit too long. I hope you can do something about René soon."

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

"I can barrel to Detroit as soon as I pack a nail, a hair net, and my spoon."

"You'd better take a teacup too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spat accidentally.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled again out of the office. He stared dolorously after her.

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